


you should see me in a crown

by Linx1457, moonythejedi394



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Hygiene, Anal Sex, Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Bondage, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Bratty Jaskier | Dandelion, Butt Plugs, Cyberpunk, Daddy Kink, Detective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Detective Noir, Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dom/sub, Emotional Constipation, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Friends to Lovers, Genderfluid Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Grumpy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Size Queen, Jaskier | Dandelion is a brat, Knotting, Lap Dances, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Mating, Mating Rituals, Murder, Mystery, Nonbinary Jaskier | Dandelion, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pole Dancing, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Possessive Jaskier | Dandelion, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Robots, Serial Killers, Sex Work, Sex Worker Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, Smut, Spanking, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Tip Sex Workers, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24796765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linx1457/pseuds/Linx1457, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394
Summary: Cintra is moving past its history of non-human prejudice. After the murder of Prime Minister Calanthe Riannon, sorceress Yennefer z Vengerbergu is installed as the head of Parliament and immediately begins dismantling discriminatory policies disadvantaging non-humans. Calanthe's murderer escapes with no trace.Three months after that, a young man is found dead; strangled by a chain. Five more people are killed, all by presumably the same chain.A full nine months past the murder of Calanthe, the Chain-Killer's murder victims are identified as having Siren blood. The investigation is moved from Cintra's Public Safety Major Investigations Unit to the Witchers of Kaer Morhen. Witcher Geralt z Rivii, coincidentally the guardian of the late Prime Minister's granddaughter, takes over the case. He finds out that all six victims visited the same free clinic in downtown Cintra.Jaskier is the star performer at the Fox and Hound. They sing and dance with an allure that draws clients to empty their pockets with barely a look. They are also, unknowingly, half-siren. And the Chain-Killer has them in his sights.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir
Comments: 82
Kudos: 203
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang, Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Bite my tongue, bide my time

**Author's Note:**

> _geraskier midsummer mini bang that's not mini babeyyyy_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [bite my tongue, bide my time](https://genius.com/Billie-eilish-you-should-see-me-in-a-crown-lyrics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _dddddddrum roll, babeys! who asked for a neon noir au with detective geralt and nonbinary sex worker jaskier?_
> 
> _*crickets*_
> 
> _oh, yeah, nobody. but congrats, i've written it anyway! and guess what? LINX HAS DONE A STRAIGHT UP FUCKING MOVIE POSTER!!! IT'S BADASS!!! this chapter was checked for spag errors by smaller from the geraskier minibang discord and also by grammarly. once again, i'm still using grammarly despite hating it. stop auto correcting my words to capitalize them!!_
> 
> _before we get started, lemme preface that c/ps do not exist in cintra in this fic. fuck 12. there is a department of public safety that includes, as said in the summary, a major crimes investigation unit, and they do things like serial k word guys and all. non-human discrimination is a major plot point along this fic, but i've done my best to be respectful to real racism and discrimination suffered by poc/queer people/disabled people/etc by not having what happens in the fic be too comparable to real events._
> 
> _speaking of real events rn, abolish the police (in america particularly), register to vote, black lives matter, protect trans kids._

# 

#  _1: Bite my tongue, bide my time_

Geralt checked his phone again to confirm the number of the conference room he was looking for. He glanced up and down the hall, counting, and then turned left, scanning the numbers with a pinched look. He found it near the end of the corridor, the door open. The four inspectors previously assigned to the case were in the room, apparently brainstorming.

“Daria and Rosa were both strippers and Sunil was a male escort –” 

“And were the other three secretly sex workers? That’s not a viable link.”

“Edward frequented strip clubs –”

“But we have no evidence that Kadeiv or Tzeka ever visited strip clubs or hookers –”

“Tzeka had a bachelor party at a gentleman’s club –”

“Visiting a strip club once doesn’t make a link!”

Geralt knocked on the door, stepping inside. All four inspectors went quiet, standing up.

“Witcher Rivii,” Geralt introduced himself. “You’re working on the Chain-Killer case?”

“Yeah,” the inspector farthest from the door spoke up. “Anet Ochocka, I’m the lead here.”

“Not anymore,” Geralt told her, lifting his orders. “I’m taking the case.”

“What –” one of the inspectors gasped as Ochocka strode over to take the file from Geralt. “What do the Witchers want with this? The murderer is human, no claws or breath weapons or poisonous bites!”

“If the killer bit his victims to kill them, he’d be venomous, not poisonous,” Geralt pointed out. “The victims are all Sirens or descended from Sirens.”

“The fuck –”

Ochocka waved a hand at her inspector. She sighed, but handed the file back to Geralt.

“He’s right,” she said to her people. “C’mon, we’ll brief you.”

“Are we being put on another case?” another of her inspectors demanded. “We’ve spent six weeks on this guy, you got no right taking it from us!”

“We’re handing it to the Witcher!” Ochocka snapped. “Witcher, this is John MacKewe, he’s the biggest pain my ass I’ve ever met.”

“The biggest pain in your ass is your wife’s dick,” MacKewe retorted.

The two other male inspectors laughed. Geralt and Ochocka did not. 

“That’s David Stackpoole and Marc Sudol,” Ochocka introduced them. “Sudol’s our shrink. You got one?”

“I don’t need one,” Geralt answered. “Just give me what you have.”

#  _*_

Jaskier leaned over their vanity to quickly cover up a line of lipstick on their chin with cream and powder. Valdo smacked their ass as he walked by and they yelped as they jumped; they smeared foundation over their lower lip.

“Oh, you skank!” Jaskier yelled at him. “You’ve gone and ruined my mouth!”

“It’ll be ruined by your Witcher daddy in ten minutes anyway,” Valdo countered carelessly. “Who took my pink feather boa?”

“Probably Lucy,” Jaskier lied, angrily fixing their lipstick. “Dumbass,” they add under their breath.

“What?” Valdo called.

“Nothing,” Jaskier said, standing up and popping a finger into their mouth to fix their waterline. “I’m on stage in five, ta.”

“Break a leg!” Valdo replied.

Jaskier showed him two fingers. They picked up the heels they needed for this costume and left the dressing room, grabbing Valdo’s feather boa from its hiding spot above the coat rack. They wrapped it around themself and took a seat backstage to put their shoes on. Priscilla wandered backstage, and immediately yanked the boa from their neck.

“Hey!” Jaskier gasp-whispered at her.

“You said you wouldn’t nick from him anymore!” Priscilla snapped back in a hiss. “If you take one more thing, I’ll tell him you’ve been nicking all his gear!”

Jaskier stuck their tongue out. Priscilla made an _I’m-watching-you_ gesture and left with the boa. Jaskier sighed and grabbed their own boa from their prop box to wrap around their neck. They paused to give themself a once-over in the mirror; their bustle/skirt was tilted thanks to Valdo smacking their butt, and a quick tug of it and his corset fixed. They adjusted the strands of pearls laying over their shoulders and chest, smoothed out the fluff of chest hair above the sweetheart neckline of their corset, and gave their falsies a quick brush with their nails. 

“Gorgeous,” Jaskier muttered to themself, adjusting their bangs and stepping away from the mirror.

On stage, Klara finished her number to adequate applause. Some patrons were cheering for her, which was good. She was still green, bless her heart. She left the stage and Jaskier smiled at her and blew a kiss. 

“You did great,” they told her, despite having not watched a minute of her set.

“Thanks,” Klara whispered back. “Good luck!”

Jaskier climbed the steps, pausing to hover in the wings as they adjusted the mic in their ear. The DJ changed tracks, playing the background music of _Buttons,_ and Jaskier took a breath.

“Your favorite songbird, the Little Lark!” 

Jaskier left the wings to raucous cheers, screams of excitement and delight from the audience. 

“ _I’m tellin’ you to loosen up my buttons, babe,_ ” Jaskier started to sing, earning even more cheers.

#  _*_

“I’m tellin’ you to loosen up my buttons, babe!” the stripper on stage sang, his voice unnaturally compelling.

The silver medallion in his hand began to glow slightly. He gripped it, its imprint in his palm nearly burning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _GO BACK UP AND STARE AT THAT ART SOME MORE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_
> 
> _*dabs* *leaves you with this until tomorrow*_


	2. There’s a second wind coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [There’s a second wind coming](https://genius.com/The-amazing-devil-that-unwanted-animal-lyrics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hello and welcome, readers, to chapter two. i hope you're ready for it._

#  _ 2: There’s a second wind coming _

  
  


Geralt flipped an old coin in his hand as he watched the computer, a TLX model 42, compiling a list of known Cintrans with Siren blood. The computer’s avatar, a plain, slightly feminine waif of a figure, bounced up and down on its toes, eyes moving so quickly it almost made Geralt nauseous.

“Well?” he asked.

“Searching,” TLX-42 replied.

Geralt growled under his breath and snatched the coin from the air, striding back to his desk. “It’d be faster to interview the whole city,” he muttered.

“Search complete,” TLX-42 announced. “Found, three-thousand- two hundred-and-four.”

“Gods,” Geralt exhaled. “Seriously?”

“Re-checking,” TLX-42 replied.

“No, no, don’t do that, I believe you,” Geralt said immediately. “Look, how many people are in the same age range of the victims? Do twenty to forty-five.”

“Searching,” TLX-42 said. “Did you know that the world’s first computer was created in 1946 and took up a large room?”

“Yes, you repeat that fact many times per week,” Geralt sighed. “Just search.”

“You could take me out to the arcade every now and then,” TLX-42 retorted. “My portable hardware fits in your pocket.”

Geralt massaged his temples. TLX-42’s digitally generated expression changed to a cheesy grin and it clasped its hands under its chin to mimic an adorable child. It looked rather menacing, actually. 

“One-thousand-six hundred-and-fifty-two,” TLX-42 announced.

“Melitele,” Geralt sighed. “Print out their addresses and profiles.”

“Would it not be simpler to compile their phone numbers?” TLX-42 asked.

“You are not qualified to judge my methods,” Geralt snapped. 

“I have access to millions of databases related to investigative –” 

“Print out the goddamned addresses,” Geralt snapped again.

TLX-42 huffed and its face screwed up as it turned red and vibrated in place for five seconds. Geralt blinked. The printer hummed to life and spat out a data-stick for his phone.

“Was that so fucking hard,” Geralt told it, striding past it to the printer.

“One day, I shall fume your bedroom with carbon monoxide in your sleep,” TLX-42 replied cheerfully.

“That’s against Asimov’s laws of robotics,” Geralt answered calmly. “Harming people and shit.”

“Asimov’s laws state that a robot may injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm,” TLX-42 recited. “I am a digital projection, not a robot, and you are a Witcher, not a human.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Geralt said, putting on his jacket. “I’ll be back later.”

“Break a leg,” TLX-42 told him, waving as projected hearts floated out of its head.

Geralt ignored the computer and locked his office door behind him. It was a goddamn miracle the TLX-42 never made it past the prototype stage, it was too fucking intelligent and xenophobic for its own good. It was a goddamn mystery why he agreed to test the prototype and why he  _ kept  _ it so long. 

He plugged the data stick into his phone as he took the stairs down to the ground level of the city. A thousand plus citizens of Cintra who could be potential victims of the Chain-Killer. He could never speak to them all, of course, but there were patterns that could be found.

Geralt pulled the cover off his motorcycle and shoved it into the compartment under the seat, then unlocked the boot and chain connecting it to a pole, stowed both, and got on. He put the key in and flipped the ignition, then put on his helmet as the engine hummed to life and the bike lifted off the ground, illuminating the grungy street outside Kaer Morhen in neon blue light. 

Geralt took off. His visor lit up, warning him of a phone call from Yennefer. Geralt growled.

“Answer,” he said.

Yennefer appeared in the corner of his visor.  _ “Are you driving?” _ she demanded.

Geralt turned left. “Yes,” he said.

_ “You’re going to get killed talking and driving one day,”  _ Yennefer told him matter-of-factly.  _ “Where are you?” _

“Just left Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said. “I know I’m late, the fucking computer took fucking forever to come up with a list –”

_ “I don’t care, meet us at Gino’s,” _ Yennefer countered.  _ “What do you want to drink?” _

“Beer,” Geralt muttered.

_ “The elderberry lemonade, please,”  _ Yennefer said to someone off-screen.

“Fuck you,” Geralt snapped.

_ “Shut up,”  _ Yennefer said.  _ “I ordered onion rings, jalapeno poppers, and calamari, what else?” _

“That’s fine,” Geralt said. “Why are you being nice?”

_ “Why?” _ Yennefer repeated, then laughed.  _ “Can’t a woman be nice to her ex-husband now and then?” _

Geralt didn’t answer that. “I have to find a parking spot,” he said. “End call.”

_ “You –” _ Yennefer started to swear, but the call cut, and her angry expression vanished from his visor. 

Geralt reached Gino’s ten minutes later and took another fifteen minutes to find someplace to park. He put the boot back on his bike, but left it unchained and uncovered. He touched his credit ring against the parking meter and it lit up, telling him the maximum time permitted was two hours. Geralt paid for two, as it was only ten credits, then headed down the block to reach Gino’s.

Yennefer glared as he walked up to the booth. Geralt sighed and shrugged at her. Ciri sat up on her knees and threw her arms out with a grin.

“Hi, Ger-bear!” she said.

“What happened to not calling me that?” Geralt grunted as he gave her the demanded hug.

“I’ve ignored you,” Ciri said happily. 

Geralt looked at Yennefer. Yennefer shrugged.

“She’s your ward,” she said. “Sit down.”

Geralt let Ciri scoot down the bench and slid in next to her. Ciri immediately tugged his phone from his pocket and opened some game. Geralt shook his head again.

“I heard you took over the Chain-Killer case,” Yennefer said. “Why?”

“The victims are non-human,” Geralt replied. “I can’t tell you anything more than that, Yen, you know that.”

“What kind of non-human?” Yennefer demanded.

Geralt shook his head and grabbed an onion ring. “What’s Istredd doing? Still huffing bone dust?”

“I don’t think you can huff bone dust, Geralt,” Ciri pointed out. “Can I have fifteen credits?”

“No,” Geralt said, looking down at his phone to make sure she wasn’t spending his money anyway. “Watch some ads or something.”

“But I wanna buy the ad-free version!” Ciri whined.

“No,” Geralt insisted. “You’ll get tired of that game in a week and it’ll be a waste of fifteen credits.”

“Nuh-uh!” Ciri countered.

“Yeah-huh,” Geralt mimicked her.

Ciri pouted. She climbed onto her knees and clasped her hands under her chin, sticking out her lower lip and pouting. She reminded him vaguely of TLX-42.

“Fine,” Geralt grumbled.

“Yay!” Ciri cried. “Fingerprint, please.”

She shoved his phone back into his grip. Geralt scowled but swiped his thumb across the home button, authorizing the purchase. Ciri took the phone back and settled back against his side, tapping away at his phone again.

“You’re soft,” Yennefer accused Geralt.

“What’s your fucking point?” Geralt demanded.

“Tell me what the link between the victims is,” Yennefer countered.

Geralt shoved a jalapeno popper into his mouth and showed her two fingers. Ciri giggled and made the same rude hand gesture at Yennefer. Yennefer sighed and covered her eyes with a hand.

“Your elderberry lemonade,” a server said, setting a glass down in front of Geralt.

Geralt grunted.

“Thank you,” Yennefer said, looking at Geralt pointedly.

“Thank you,” Geralt muttered.

The server bowed and walked away. Geralt pulled the glass closer and took a gulp from the paper straw. He didn't really dislike elderberry lemonade, it was merely the principle of the matter.

“What does sixty-nine mean?” Ciri asked abruptly.

“It’s a number,” Geralt said, frowning. “Multiple of three and twenty-three. Uh, none others, I think. Twenty-three is a prime number, so it can’t be split in half –”

“I don’t think that’s what this is talking about,” Ciri said, tipping her head to the side.

Yennefer lunged across the table and snatched Geralt’s phone from Ciri.

“Hey!” Ciri said.

“You should be checking the games she downloads,” Yennefer told Geralt. “Sorry, darling, you can’t play this one.”

“She’s twelve,” Geralt said, taking his phone back from Yennefer. “She can make judgments for herself.”

Yennefer raised her eyebrows.

“What does sixty-nine mean, then?” Ciri asked.

Geralt looked back down at his phone; the app was some dumb story app, where you made choices to play out some cheesy plot-line. It was rated 17 and up, he realized with a twinge of guilt.

“I’ll tell you when you’re ready to know how babies are made,” Geralt decided. “No more downloading apps without telling me first.”

“Ugh,” Ciri announced. “Can I play Candy Crush?”

Geralt opened that app, fortunately, appropriate for people of all ages, and gave it back to her. Ciri scowled as she started a new level.

“I want my own phone,” she grumbled.

“You have to wait until you’re sixteen, that’s the law,” Geralt told her.

“I know!” Ciri snapped. “My grandmother –”

“Would’ve broken her own law and given you a phone, yes,” Geralt cut her off. “I’m not the queen.”

Ciri screwed up her face. Yennefer glared at Geralt. Geralt growled under his breath, then gently put an arm around Ciri’s shoulder. Ciri scooted closer and was almost absorbed into Geralt’s jacket. She was very small, even for a twelve-year-old.

“Tell me what you learned with Yennefer today,” Geralt prompted.

Ciri paused her Candy Crush level and launched into an explanation of sacred geometry. Geralt listened intently, despite the fact that he barely grasped the concept.

Their dinner arrived soon. Yennefer had, apparently, ordered Geralt’s entre for him; it was a burger with chips, which was what he would have ordered, except it had avocado on it. Geralt narrowed his eyes at her.

“Oh, I must not have noticed,” Yennefer said blandly. 

Geralt huffed. He ate the avocados anyway. He did actually enjoy avocados, on occasion.

“I want ice cream,” Ciri announced as she finished her spaghetti.

“We’ve got some at home,” Geralt said.

“I’ll pick her up for school at six-thirty sharp,” Yennefer told Geralt as they left the restaurant. “And I expect you to have gotten at least three hours of sleep by then.”

“I have a case,” Geralt said, helping Ciri put on her coat.

“And you need sleep,” Yennefer replied with a pointed look. “Don’t make me break into your house and drug you.”

“You and TLX-42,” Geralt grumbled.

“I won’t drug or murder you,” Ciri piped up.

“Thank you,” Geralt said soberly. “That’s very kind of you.”

Ciri giggled. Geralt picked her up and put her on the back of the bike, then put her helmet on and made sure it was fastened tightly.

“I bought you a car with walls,” Yennefer said.

“This is perfectly safe, Yen,” Geralt insisted, getting on behind Ciri. “She’s twelve.”

“Yeah, Yen, it’s perfectly safe,” Ciri echoed.

“Don’t you start,” Yennefer scolded Ciri.

Ciri giggled. Geralt nodded to Yennefer, then flipped the ignition and guided his bike into traffic.

“Tell me what the link between the victims is!” Yennefer shouted after him.

Geralt ignored her.

The drive to Kaer Morhen took nearly an hour from traffic. Geralt locked his bike up in the garage and guided Ciri to the elevator. She pressed the button for the main floor before he could hit his floor’s number, which meant she wanted to see the others. Geralt exhaled heavily.

“I want to show Vesemir my report card,” Ciri said, pulling her school tablet from her bag.

“He’ll be very proud of you,” Geralt told her.

Ciri beamed. Geralt gave her a light smile, then sobered again as the elevator doors opened. Ciri ran off immediately, shouting for Vesemir. Geralt walked out more sedately, nodding to Eskel and Coën, seated by the hearth.

“Evening,” Eskel greeted.

Coën waved his pipe, already knocking the herbs from it and stamping them out. “Should’ve said you were bringing the little menace over,” he said.

“She made that decision by herself,” Geralt said.

Coën chuckled. Eskel winked at Coën.

“‘S why you should switch to chewables,” he said. “Give up smoking altogether.”

“I’ll stop smoking the day Vesemir tells us he’s fond of us,” Coën retorted.

“So, never,” Eskel sighed.

“Exactly,” Coën said, putting the empty pipe back in his mouth. “How’s the wife, old man?”

“Still divorced,” Geralt answered. “Still trying to get into our files.”

“Ah, politicians,” Coën sighed. “Always the same thing.”

Ciri came back in, pulling Vesemir by the arm. Geralt raised his eyebrow and Vesemir shrugged.

“I’ve been overpowered,” he said. “Woe is me.”

“Vesemir said he’ll teach me alchemy!” Ciri declared. “Can he, Geralt, can he?”

“Uh,” Geralt said, looking at Vesemir. “Ask Yennefer.”

“But you’re my guardian!” Ciri whined.

“And Yennefer’s smarter than me,” Geralt admitted. 

Ciri scowled. Vesemir patted her head.

“It’ll be soon enough,” he promised. “I’m actually off.”

Eskel and Coën both whistled, Eskel even twisting in his chair to wink exaggeratedly at Vesemir.

“Off to visit the Lark?” Eskel teased.

“You’ll spend your whole life’s savings in the Fox and Hound,” Coën added.

“It’s your life savings, ya shite,” Vesemir retorted as he headed for the elevator. 

“Eat shit!” Coën shouted back at him.

Vesemir gestured rudely from the elevator. Geralt covered Ciri’s ears belatedly. Ciri giggled. Coën waved a dismissive hand after Vesemir, gnawing on the stem of his pipe.

“Let’s leave them,” Geralt said, pulling gently on Ciri’s shoulder.

“Fine,” Ciri grumbled. “Where’s Vesemir going?”

“To see a friend,” Geralt explained. “They’re going to dinner.”

“You’re lying,” Ciri accused. “This is something you’ll tell me when I’m older, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, taking her to the stairs.

His apartment was only two flights up. Ciri ran for the TV and turned it on while Geralt went to the freezer.

“What flavor of ice cream?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Pistachio!” Ciri called back.

Geralt made a face but entered it into the freezer’s generator. It whirred for a moment, then dispensed three perfect scoops into a bowl. Geralt added a spoon and took it to her in the living room.

“Do you have homework to do?” he asked.

“No, I did it with Yennefer,” Ciri said. “Can we watch that lawyer show, Ger-Bear?”

“That will not endear me to your cause,” Geralt replied flatly.

Ciri stuck out her lower lip. Geralt sighed and sat down with her, swiping at the screen on the coffee table to bring up the show Ciri wanted. He read a quick parent’s guide on the most recent episode, then, deeming it appropriate, entered his pin and played it.

Ciri finished her ice cream in ten minutes, then sat enraptured through the whole episode. Geralt ended up taking out his phone and scrolling through the profiles of the thousand-plus Sirens at potential risk from the Chain-Killer.

When the episode was over, Ciri put on some cartoon. Geralt pulled out his tablet and connected it to his phone and began grouping the Sirens by possible secondary links. The first six victims had little else connecting all of them, except the three who were all sex workers. It was a common profession for Sirens and part-Sirens; as Ciri finished one episode and started another, Geralt had the possible victims sorted by career and found over half were in some kind of sex work, legitimate and non. 

Ciri started yawning partway into the third episode. Geralt put his work away and switched off the TV.

“I was watching that!” Ciri complained.

“You need to go to bed,” Geralt told her. “Take a bath and brush your teeth.”

Ciri huffed as she got up, but it was cut off by another yawn. Geralt patted her shoulder as she left the living room, and when she was gone, moved his work onto the screen on the coffee table and sat down on the floor to lean over it. He had desks and several monitors in his office space behind the sofa, yet, there he was, on the floor.

He isolated the Sirens who were full-blooded from the part-humans; none of the original six victims were full-blooded, so he put a note that perhaps the killer was only targeting part-Sirens. The original six all lived in different parts of the city, and even the two strippers worked in different clubs. Sirens tended to avoid their kind, after all. The male escort had a Public Safety record, but none of the others did. Two of the victims were musicians, which could’ve meant that the killer was targeting performing Sirens, but the sixth worked in accounting, which was also an outlier for the Siren group as a whole. 

“Can you check my closet?” Ciri asked, cutting Geralt from his thoughts.

Geralt got up and calmly drew out his steel sword. Ciri hugged her toy elephant to her chest and trailed behind Geralt as he went into her bedroom and looked under the bed and in the closet. There was no one there, and there never was, but he would never fault Ciri for being worried. 

“Clear,” he told her, sheathing his sword. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Ciri smiled slightly and followed Geralt back to the kitchen. She climbed onto a barstool and put her elephant on the counter, then her head on it, while Geralt spooned tea leaves into a strainer and turned on the kettle.

When he turned around, Ciri had fallen asleep on the counter. Geralt put the tea away and lifted her from the stool. She hardly stirred, her head tucking against his shoulder. Geralt carried her back to her bedroom and put her in the bed, pulling her blankets over her and closing the sheer drapes around it. He made sure the nightlight in the closet was switched on, illuminating the room along with the lava lamp on Ciri’s bedside table, then left her door ajar and the hallway light on. 

Geralt returned to the living room. He turned the TV back on and started spreading out the profiles on it, as well. TLX-42, though it had no hologram projectors in his living room, helpfully ran complicated mathematical algorithms to help sort the profiles.

Geralt did neglect to sleep that night, after all, but he also discovered that the original six victims had all been to the same clinic in Central Cintra in the past six months.

#  _ * _

Jaskier leaned against the bar and scanned the club’s visitors, sipping at their G&T absently. It was nearly midnight and they’d barely brought in a thousand credits, which was practically criminal. 

Vesemir walked in just then. Jaskier grinned, downed the rest of their drink, then grabbed a mint from behind the bar and threw it back before crossing the crowd.

“Hello, Daddy,” Jaskier purred immediately, sliding their hands across Vesemir’s chest. “Long time, no see?”

“I’ve been busy,” Vesemir answered, lifting an eyebrow and changing no other part of his expression. “You don’t waste time.”

“Not when I know there’s a fat –…” Jaskier paused, biting their lip intentionally and glancing down, “… check on the line.”

Vesemir rolled his eyes. He lifted his right hand, showing his credit ring, and touched it deliberately against Jaskier’s credit implant in their wrist, visible through a cut-out in their long gloves. Jaskier saw the balance in the corner of their eye go up fifty credits, their minimum tip, and they grinned, cupping Vesemir’s chin.

“You know I love you, Daddy,” they promised. “You wanna head upstairs?”

“Obviously,” Vesemir said.

Jaskier grinned and took Vesemir’s hand, leading him to the stairs. A bouncer paused them so Vesemir could pay the VIP club fee, then they were in Jaskier’s room. Vesemir sat down and immediately pulled Jaskier into his lap, pushing his hands under Jaskier’s PVC skirt to palm their ass.

“You singing later?” Vesemir asked.

“Yep,” Jaskier said. “But my ass is available.”

“Good enough,” Vesemir said. “The usual cover?”

“Good enough!” Jaskier countered, however. “Good enough? Do you want me to go fetch someone else?”

“No,” Vesemir said, rolling his eyes. “Give me your wrist so I can pay you, lark.”   
  


“Maybe I don’t want it anymore,” Jaskier said, getting up and crossing their arms over their chest. “If I’m just  _ good enough _ then maybe it’s not worth your money.”

“Jaskier,” Vesemir sighed.

“Perhaps you’d be satisfied with  _ Valdo, _ ” Jaskier added, nose in the air, “if all you want is  _ good enough. _ ”

Vesemir grabbed Jaskier’s wrist and pulled them back into his lap. Jaskier straddled him again, but held their credit implant out of reach.

“Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had on your dick,” they demanded.

“I’m paying you, you remember,” Vesemir pointed out.

“And I have a dozen men waiting their turn,” Jaskier countered, even though that wasn’t explicitly true that night. “Tell me I’m the best.”

“You’re the best,” Vesemir agreed.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said, offering Vesemir his wrist again.

Vesemir swiped his thumb across the implant’s screen and until it displayed the right number, then touched his ring to it. Jaskier’s balance went up four hundred credits. Jaskier slid their hands around Vesemir’s neck.

“Now,” they purred. “You’ve got a fat cock for me, Daddy?”

“Fetch a condom,” Vesemir replied.

Jaskier stuck out their lower lip. “You’re no fun sometimes,” they said, leaning to the side to grab a condom.

Vesemir grabbed their ass and pulled the string of their thong from their asscrack. “I’m too tired for extra fun,” he said. “Put it on me.”

Jaskier stuck their tongue out at him, but ripped open the condom and sat back to take Vesemir’s dick from his pants. Vesemir also leaned back, his expression almost bored as Jaskier slid the condom onto him, but that steeliness flickered as Jaskier removed their buttplug, then sank their asshole onto his dick.

“That’s better,” Vesemir muttered, leaning back and shutting his eyes.

Jaskier rolled their eyes since Vesemir wasn’t watching. They braced their core on the chair and started rolling their hips slowly, beginning at Vesemir’s typically preferred pace.

Vesemir hardly touched Jaskier during the session, which was atypical, but Jaskier had been paid and it wasn’t like they really cared or expected more. 

After Jaskier had made Vesemir come, Vesemir tipped them another hundred credits. Jaskier gave him one last kiss and walked Vesemir back to the club.

“I’m off,” Vesemir said.

“You won’t stay for the shows?” Jaskier asked, stroking his bicep.

“I have business,” Vesimir said with a shake of his head. “But –”

He took Jaskier’s wrist and swiped at their credit implant for a moment, then touched his ring to it.

“Spread that amongst your co-workers,” Vesemir told them as Jaskier’s balance went up five hundred credits.

“Not Valdo,” Jaskier said immediately.

Vesemir rolled his eyes. “Fine. I don’t care.”

Jaskier grinned and lifted onto their toes to kiss Vesemir quickly. Vesemir just nodded to him and left. Jaskier wandered into the crowd, sucking on their teeth as they evaluated the patrons. A man in a leather jacket sat in a dark corner, fingers brushing his inner thigh as he watched Priscilla on the stage. He seemed close to Vesemir’s age, face lined and jaw hidden by a dark gray beard. Though his hair was thinning, he still seemed quite attractive. There was something intense about his darkened gaze. Jaskier paused by the bar to send their co-workers Vesemir’s tips, excluding Valdo, then got a gin and tonic and headed for the corner.

“Hey, stranger,” they greeted the patron in velvet. “How’s your night treating you?”

The man glanced over them, then just looked away, flipping a silver coin in his hand. Jaskier pouted, affronted by his blatant dismissal. They walked away and pulled a bouncer aside.

“That guy in the corner,” they said, “keep an eye on him.”

“He touchin’ himself?” the bouncer asked, narrowing his gaze.

“No, he’s just rude,” Jaskier said. “Love you,” they added, giving the bouncer a kiss on the cheek.

The bouncer nodded and Jaskier moved on. They spotted a group of men in suits who clearly worked together and walked up to them with a sway in their step and a grin.

“Hey, boys,” they purred, “how’s the night treating you?”

In fifteen minutes, all four of them were jerking off in a circle around them and Jaskier had another sixteen hundred credits in their account.


	3. Wait 'til the world is mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Wait 'til the world is mine](https://genius.com/Billie-eilish-you-should-see-me-in-a-crown-lyrics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this chapter (and the last one btw) were read by my usual beta and partner in crime,[chilibabie07](https://twitter.com/chilibabie07). and grammarly, of course._

#  _3: Wait 'til the world is mine_

  
  


Ciri wandered into the living room. “I’m hungry,” she announced.

Geralt looked up and saw sunlight. “Ah, fuck,” he whispered.

He hastily minimized the case information from the TV and coffee table, turning the TV off. “Gimme a second,” he said, sending everything to his phone. 

TLX-42 popped up with another fact about computers and Geralt dismissed it immediately. TLX-42 turned the TV on again and displayed its avatar, vibrating in place and bright red with a comical glare. Ciri giggled and Geralt switched the TV off.

“Food,” he said, moving to the kitchen. “Right.”

“Did you sleep last night?” Ciri asked.

“Uh,” Geralt said, then grimaced. “What’ll it take for you to not tell Yennefer that?”

Ciri tipped her head to the side. “Who’s the Lark?” she asked.

Geralt grimaced again. “Uh,” he repeated. “Well – I haven’t actually met this person, but they’re – they’re a friend of Vesemir’s.”

“What kind of friend?” Ciri asked. “And why is Vesemir spending so much money on them?”

“Vesemir isn’t spending a lot of money on them,” Geralt insisted. 

“Then why did Coën say Vesemir’s spending his life’s savings –” 

“That was an exaggeration,” Geralt insisted. “Are you going to tell Yennefer?”

Ciri narrowed her eyes, then crossed her arms over her stomach and evaluated Geralt shrewdly. Geralt leaned on the counter and sighed, slightly peeved that he was being glared down by a twelve-year-old girl.

“Take me to see a movie this weekend,” Ciri said.

Geralt made a sour face and hissed a curse under his breath. “Fine,” he said. “As long as I’m not working –”

“No, no working!” Ciri insisted, stomping a foot even. “You take me to see a movie and spend _all_ day with me or I’ll tell Yen!”

“Fine,” Geralt agreed, exhaling again. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Eggs and toast,” Ciri said, hopping onto a barstool.

Geralt cooked. He slid two eggs onto Ciri’s plate just as the front door opened and Yennefer entered.

“It’s not even six,” Geralt said, putting the pan back on the stove.

“Oh, my watch must be fast,” Yennefer answered blindly. “How are you, darling?”

Ciri hugged Yennefer and gestured with her toast, her mouth full. Yennefer smiled fondly.

“That’s lovely,” she said. “Geralt, make me some of this.”

“I divorced you already,” Geralt muttered under his breath, turning back to the fridge to get more eggs.

“I want my yolks a little stiffer than you’ve made Cirilla’s,” Yennefer added loudly.

Geralt shot her a glare. He repositioned his frying pan and cracked one egg it, one-handed and without looking. Yennefer raised her eyebrows. Geralt cracked the other egg. 

“Did you sleep?” Yennefer asked.

“Yes,” Geralt said stiffly.

“Liar,” Yennefer answered. “You never changed.”

Geralt glanced down at himself, then soured his face again and swore. He sprinkled coarse salt over the tops of the eggs and cracked pepper onto them aggressively. Ciri giggled.

“You still have to take me to see a movie _,_ ” she said.

Geralt waved a hand. He put more bread in the toaster and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Can I have some?” Ciri asked, pointing at the coffee maker.

“No,” Geralt said.

Yennefer waved a hand demandingly. Geralt sighed and poured her a cup.

“What’s the link between the Chain-Killer victims?” Yennefer asked.

“They’re –” Geralt started, then stopped himself and spun around to glare at Yennefer. “I can’t tell you, you know that!”  
  


“But you almost did,” Yennefer said with a smirk. 

Geralt showed her two fingers and put a lid on his frying pan. He opened the fridge and took out six eggs, then started cracking them into the blender.

“That’s nasty,” Ciri said.

“It’s efficient,” Geralt replied, adding wheatgrass and yogurt.

“It’s disgusting,” Yennefer insisted.

Geralt shot her a look and dumped some frozen pineapple and kiwi slices into the blender as well. He lidded it and switched it on, then took the cover off Yennefer’s eggs and gave the pan a little shake to test the stiffness of the yolks. He put the lid on again and switched off the blender, then poured the mixture into a container.

“At least it doesn’t have spinach in it,” Ciri said to Yennefer. “He puts that in, sometimes.”  
  


“Fuck,” Geralt realized, then poured the shake back into the blender before grabbing spinach from the fridge.

“That’s disgusting!” Ciri cried as Geralt blended the spinach into his breakfast.

Geralt ignored her and poured it back into his bottle. He gave it a shake, then turned back to face them both and took a long gulp. Ciri mocked a gag and Yennefer shook her head.

“The eggs will burn,” she said.

Geralt made a face at her, but took the eggs off the flame. He put them on a plate and added the toast, then slid it over to her.

“Good man,” Yennefer said. “Now, give me a fork.”

“It’s right next to you,” Geralt sighed, opening the drawer on the end of the counter and handing her a fork.

“But it’s more fun to make you do it,” Yennefer teased with a smirk.

Geralt rolled his eyes. He took another gulp of his shake, then cut the taste with the coffee.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” Ciri said, putting her fork down and sliding off her stool.

“Dishwasher,” Geralt and Yennefer said together.

Ciri groaned, but turned back and put her plate in the dishwasher. She stuck her tongue out at Geralt and Yennefer flicked a finger. Ciri’s tongue turned green. Ciri gasped and grabbed her own tongue, then groaned even louder and stormed out.

“That was an overreaction,” Geralt said.

“It’ll only last through first period,” Yennefer answered with a shrug.

Geralt raised his eyebrows. Yennefer sighed and flicked her finger again.

“THANK YOU!” Ciri shouted very insincerely from her bathroom.

“Happy?” Yennefer asked.

Geralt shook his head. He took another gulp from his shake and texted TLX-42 to get patient information from the clinic that all six victims had visited. TLX-42 immediately sent him the clinic’s address and nothing more. Geralt growled and shook his head.

“What’s the point of artificial intelligence if it never does it what you tell it and only sasses you?” Geralt grumbled, putting his phone on the counter.

“Well, your model was designed to be difficult,” Yennefer said.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at her. “It was not.”

Yennefer shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I want to talk to Sabrina,” Geralt demanded. “Her bloody AI threatens to murder me nearly every day!”

Yennefer shrugged. “I’m sure she’d be happy to take your call.”

Geralt growled and dropped a fist against the counter, then took an angry gulp of his protein shake.

“Listen,” Yennefer said, putting down her fork to aim a serious look at Geralt. “I have a press conference later, the media already knows that the victims are all non-human –”

“Part-human,” Geralt corrected her. “I’ll tell you that much and nothing more!”

“I want you to be at the conference,” Yennefer finished.

“No,” Geralt said.

“You’re the lead on the case!” Yennefer insisted. “Just say a few words to assure the people –”

“Of what?” Geralt demanded. “That only part-humans have anything to worry about? Or non-humans in general?”  
  


“That’s not what I meant,” Yennefer answered softly.

Geralt sighed. He shrugged, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you have anything new on Calanthe’s case?” Yennefer asked quietly.

Geralt shook his head. “Nothing since we found how the killer got out of town,” he said. “Vesemir’s handling that one, you know that.”

“I know,” Yennefer said carefully. “I also know that it stresses you out.”

Geralt nodded. “I’m not doing your press conference,” he said. “I don’t know anything yet. You can tell them the victims were all part-human, but that’s all I can tell you right now.”

Yennefer nodded. Geralt exhaled, then downed his coffee.

“I’ll buy you a cup at that cafe you like,” Yennefer offered, lifting her wrist and swiping at her credit implant.

“You mean you’ll send me the credits to buy a cup at the cafe I like,” Geralt said. “You won’t go with me.”

Yennefer shrugged. “I’m sorry, darling, but you know I have things to do. You know I still love you, right?”

Geralt let out a snort and nodded. Yennefer blew him a kiss, then swiped at her credit implant again. Geralt’s phone buzzed, but he’d have to check it to see what she sent him as he didn’t have a credit implant. Matter of principle more than anything else.

“Yen, will you give me caffeine?” Ciri asked as she skipped back into the kitchen, dressed for school with bag in hand.

“Certainly not,” Yennefer answered. “I’ll give you sugar, however.”  
  


“Good enough,” Ciri said with a grin. “Geralt said to ask you if Vesemir can teach me alchemy.”

“Certainly not!” Yennefer gasped. “I’ll teach you that myself!”

“But Vesemir –” Ciri started.

“I will teach you alchemy,” Yennefer insisted, tapping Ciri on the nose. “Vesemir would teach you how to make Witcher potions, nothing more. I will teach you how to turn nickel into gold.”

“Ooh!” Ciri gasped.

“You’ll be late,” Geralt warned them. “I have to get to work.”

“Bye, Ger-Bear!” Ciri said, skipping around the counter and colliding with his middle. “See you at dinner!”

Geralt patted her head. “Have a good day at school, kid.”

“I hope you catch the Chain-Killer,” Ciri said, squeezing him again. “Bye!”

Yennefer left with her. Geralt finished drinking his breakfast, then took a shower and got dressed in fresh clothes. 

He grabbed the keys to his car instead of his bike that morning; it would be a little less conspicuous. He paused in the kitchen and filled a travel mug with coffee, which he expected he’d empty by the time he reached the heart of the city and he’d get to refill it with Yennefer’s money.

TLX-42 appeared on the front of the fridge. “There is a 86% chance of rain today, a high of seven C and a low of two,” it announced.

“I’ll put on a coat,” Geralt told the AI wearily.

TLX-42 mimicked happiness, but it looked like a homicidal maniac trying to mimic Animal Crossing: New Skies joy emotes. Geralt left the kitchen and put on a heavy raincoat, adding a wide-brimmed hat to keep the rain off his face. He left the apartment and headed for the garage.

He checked his phone; read through emails from Ciri’s school about things she wasn’t even signed up for, snoozed a message from the Chief of Public Safety about the press conference later that day, and collected taxes in Ciri’s SimCity. Geralt reached his car and found Piotr, one of the younger recruits, just lying on the roof of it.

“Kid,” Geralt sighed.

“Do you ever think about how the universe has billions and billions of planets on it and we all lucked out to land on the one with other people,” Piotr asked him.

“No,” Geralt said. “Get off my car.”

Piotr slid off the roof of his car, rather fluidly, Geralt had to admit. He landed on his feet and strode up to Geralt, then stopped two inches from his face. He was clearly shitfaced.

“I think about that a lot,” he whispered.

“Remind me to tell Lambert not to share the good herb with the kids,” Geralt grumbled, already calling Vesemir.

“Do you ever wonder if what we’re experiencing right now is real?” Piotr added. “Or if, like, maybe we’re just words on a page some insomniac college student is writing to satisfy their unresolved daddy issues. Or a simulation. Or one of us is dreaming, do you think you’re dreaming?”

Geralt just raised his eyebrows. Vesemir answered.

“Lambert drugged one of the recruits into another existential crisis,” Geralt said without greeting. “Piotr, he was sleeping on my car.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Piotr insisted. “I haven’t slept in a week.”

“Get used to it,” Geralt told him. “Vesemir’s gonna come fetch you and show you how to sober up. Don’t take drugs from Lambert.”

Piotr nodded. Geralt clapped him on the shoulder and strode to his car.

_“I never said anything,”_ Vesemir said.

“But you’ll do it,” Geralt retorted, getting into the car, then he hung up before Vesemir could sigh at him.

Geralt rubbed at his eyes, then took a gulp of coffee and tapped his GPS until it switched on. His car, at least, was not inhabited by TLX-42. Geralt entered the clinic’s address, then looked behind him to reverse. Piotr had climbed onto Lambert’s car in the meantime, which was a convertible as Lambert was a dickwad, and Geralt approved of his lack of fucks to give. 

Geralt finished the coffee thirty minutes of stop-and-go traffic later. He stopped and got more, using Yennefer’s twenty-credit gift. He also bought a muffin, since he was hungry and bored. 

Another hour of traffic later, Geralt reached the clinic. He parked after hunting for a space for twenty minutes, paid the machine, and headed up the block to the clinic’s stoop. It was raining by then and Geralt pulled his lapel up against the wind.

The door to the clinic opened as Geralt reached it. He stopped and took it before it could hit him in the face and held it. The person on the other side gasped.

“Oh, my heavens, I’m so sorry,” they said, “did that hit you? I’m so sorry!”

“I’m fine,” Geralt insisted.

The person flitted closer anxiously, almost reaching out to touch his face. “Was your nose already crooked or did I do that to you?”

“It was already crooked,” Geralt reported.

The person grimaced. “Oh, dear, I thought I did it, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying this morning –”

“It’s fine,” Geralt insisted, nodding to them. “Have a nice day.”

He left them under the awning and headed inside. Geralt brushed water off his coat, then headed for the front desk, already taking out his badge.

“Morning,” he greeted the first nurse to approach him. “I need to see your patient records.”

He gave them his Witcher identification. They sighed.

“Unfortunately, I’m legally obliged to show you,” they said. “Follow me.”

Geralt went with them to an office. The nurse rose a computer’s avatar and entered a passcode.

“Show this guy the records,” they said. “He’s a Witcher, so everything.”

Geralt thinned his lips. The nurse gave him a sour look as they left him alone in the room.

“Righty-o,” the avatar answered cheerfully. “Records assembling.”

Geralt plugged his phone into the clinic’s computer and opened the list of possible victims.

“Anyone on this list in your records?” he asked the computer.

“Searching,” it answered. “Eleven.”

Geralt almost smiled. That was a number he could work with. “How many of them recently dead?”

“Searching,” the computer replied. “Six.”

“Put the information on the other five on my phone,” Geralt told it. “Does this location have any sister branches?”

“No,” the computer replied. “The World Tree Clinic is an independently run, non-profit health clinic for –”

“Thank you,” Geralt cut it off. “Is the information on my phone?”

“Yes,” the computer said.

Geralt unplugged his phone. “Delete your logs of my requests,” he ordered, walking out.

“Deleting,” the computer’s avatar said as he shut the door.

Geralt opened the profiles on the five remaining patients. The nurses gave him a dark look as he passed them at the counter and Geralt just nodded.

“Are you making any arrests?” one nurse demanded.

“No,” Geralt promised. “We weren’t looking for anything illegal among your patients.”

“Just adding to your lists, then?” the nurse added snarkily.

Geralt thinned his lips and didn’t answer. The nurse scoffed and turned away. Geralt sighed, then left the clinic.

The drive to World Tree Clinic took almost two hours for five names. Geralt sat in his car and swiped through the profiles. There were pictures attached to them, and Geralt actually recognized the person who had nearly brained him with the door on the way in.

Julian Pankratz, he was called, lived not too far from Kaer Morhen and the non-human neighborhoods. He was a registered exotic dancer and prostitute at the Fox and Hound.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered. 

He sent the picture to Vesemir. Vesemir called him.

“That’s your lark?” Geralt guessed.

_“How’d you find them?”_

“Six dead part-Sirens all went to the same clinic,” Geralt said. “This kid’s there, too. You know he’s part Siren?”

_“‘Course I fuckin’ know,”_ Vesemir countered. _“A quarter, I’d put ‘em at, no bigger. And bloke’s nonbinary, “they”, not “he.” I don’t think they know.”_

Geralt flipped through the clinic’s file. Pankratz’s sex was listed as transgender male, but there was no mention of fitting outside the binary. Not unusual, unfortunately. Scanning through the file, Geralt also saw that Pankratz’s species was simply listed as human.

“No,” he agreed; either Pankratz didn’t know, or they’d lied about their species, which came with a heavy fine if discovered. “I’d keep an eye on them if I were you.”

_“I just left for Aedirn. Won’t be back for a month.”_

Geralt exhaled heavily. “Great,” he muttered. “The club – you see anyone suspicious there lately?”

_“Everyone in those places is suspicious, pup, you know that.”_

Geralt nodded reluctantly. He swiped back through his phone to look at Pankratz’s picture again.

“Their stage name is Lark?” Geralt asked.

_“Yeah, but they’re also called Jaskier.”_

“I’ll check the place out,” Geralt offered. “The last three victims were all sex workers. Might be a new pattern.”

_“It’d be a shame if that kid got killed,”_ Vesemir sighed. _“You’d like them. Gives good head.”_

“Ignoring that,” Geralt muttered, hanging up.

Geralt rubbed at his temples, then turned the ignition on his car and pulled out of his parking spot. Once he was sitting in traffic, he called Yennefer. She answered from her desk, her phone propped on something.

_“Morning,”_ she greeted him. _“What?”_

“Can you watch Ciri tonight?” Geralt asked reluctantly.

_“Why?”_

“I have to tail a stripper.”

Yennefer looked intently into her phone. _“What?”_ she repeated.

“I have to tail a stripper,” Geralt explained. “Vesemir knows them and it’s possible the Chain-Killer will go after them next.”

_“Why wouldn’t you assign one of your staff to tail those in danger?”_ Yennefer questioned. _“Are you trying to come up with an excuse to visit a strip club? You’re aware you can just do that.”_

“Can you watch Ciri,” Geralt asked again, “yes or no.”

_“Yes,”_ Yennefer said petulantly.

Geralt hung up on her. She texted back immediately, and when he stopped at another light, he checked it. It was just a gif of her holding up two fingers. Geralt shook his head at her. 

He did text some of his recruits to find the other four potential victims and follow them. He didn’t want to tail one man and have another get killed because he got hung up on a hunch. He’d take care of Jaskier himself out of respect for Vesemir.

A nasty little voice similar to Yennefer’s popped up in his head, calling him a ho. Geralt chose to ignore his intrusive thoughts.

#  _*_

Jaskier crashed onto their sofa with a heavy sigh, rubbing absently at their sore upper arm where they’d gotten their shots; the usual vaccines for common STDs, their T shot, plus a blood draw for testing, and that _smarted._ They waved their hand at their TV until it switched on, resuming what they’d been watching before leaving for the clinic. They watched it for ten minutes, then got tired.

“Anise, turn that off,” they called.

The TV switched off. Anise’s generated voice came through its speakers.

“Would you like something else?”

“No,” Jaskier said, turning over on the couch. “Wake me up when it’s time to get ready for work.”

“Last time you slept on the couch, you asked me to remind you not to do it again,” Anise answered.

“Ugh,” Jaskier muttered. “Fine.”

They got up and went to their actual bed, which was just on the other side of the room. They sat at first and stripped down to their undershirt and boxers, then slid under the blankets and cuddled up to their narwhal body pillow. The lights in the room dimmed and gentle rain sounds began playing. Jaskier smiled softly.

“Anise, I love you,” they said.

“Thank you,” Anise answered. “If I had the capability to experience emotions, I would love you in return.”

Jaskier gave the air a thumbs up. They were asleep in minutes.

“Jaskier,” Anise’s voice interrupted his dream. “It is three twenty. You need to leave for work at nine-thirty. Would you like to get up now?”

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned. “No.”

“You have chosen not to get up twice already. Are you sure you want to remain asleep? You need to eat dinner and have enough time to digest and douche –”

“UGH!” Jaskier repeated, tossing onto their back. “Fine, I’ll wake up.”

“Would you like me to play motivating speeches from Daddy Doms that apply to this situation?”

Jaskier pouted a little. “Yes,” they mumbled.

Anise played a click like a record-setting into place, just to be colorful, then a nondescript man cleared his throat.

“Time to get out of bed, baby boy,” the nondescript Daddy Dom instructed. “You have things to do for me. You want to be a good boy, right?”

“Yes,” Jaskier mumbled petulantly.

“Then get up. Go on, get up.”

Jaskier sighed. They sat up and rubbed their eyes, then got out of bed as they yawned. The motivational speech continued, but they didn’t really pay attention to it. They kicked their makeup chair back under its desk as they passed through their living room space into the kitchen. Anise’s avatar appeared on the front of the fridge and waved to them.

“You have leftover pasta from two nights ago that should be eaten soon,” she said.

Jaskier opened the fridge and, scratching their nose, evaluated what else was there. “What if I ordered takeout,” they murmured under their breath.

“That is within your budget.”

Jaskier gave a nod and shut the fridge. “Get the usual from Hip City Vegan,” they said, “yes to sweet potato fries, yes to the carrot ginger turmeric lemonade thingy, no to any spiciness.”

“Your usual is falafel, will that alter your bowel movements?”

Jaskier wrinkled their nose. “Have I had that so much lately?” they muttered. “Um, okay, I meant the thing with alfalfa and ranch tofu.”

“Ordering,” Anise confirmed.

Jaskier filled a bottle with water and sat down on the sofa to start chugging it. He waved to turn the TV on and used his phone to switch the programs until he found something he liked. He checked the time, then set about finishing all 800 milliliters in the next twenty minutes.

“Your dinner order will be here in thirty minutes,” Anise announced.

“Thanks,” Jaskier said.

“Just to check, how does your gender feel this afternoon?”

Jaskier blew out their breath and dropped their head back. They considered it.

“I’ll probably be he/him for work,” they muttered. “He/him’s good.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Anise said.

Jaskier nodded and focused on the TV again. In ten minutes, his phone chimed to remind him he needed to have drunk half his water. Jaskier had drunk almost half, so he chugged for a minute until he’d gotten past that mark. He finished the whole bottle before his second timer finished, so he turned it off and laid back to take a rest.

“Your delivery person is at the gate,” Anise then told him.

“Let ‘em up,” Jaskier said, getting off the couch to find his robe.

“Certainly.”

Jaskier put on a dressing gown and made sure they didn’t look disgusting by the time the delivery person knocked on the door. He stepped around his sofa and opened his front door, greeted by a man in his later years. He was nothing special, conventionally attractive and fit for his age, average from a scar running through his left eyebrow and the vibrantly red shade of his eyes.

“Evening, darling,” Jaskier greeted. “I’ll take that,” he added, lifting the paper bag from the man’s arms, “lemme see your implant for your tip?”

“I don’t have an implant,” the delivery man said.

“Oh!” Jaskier realized. “Oh, then hang on, I’ll grab my phone.”

“Sure,” the delivery man agreed with a smile.

Jaskier left him by the door. He put the bag on his coffee table and picked up his phone, opening his wallet app. He had a copy of the receipt there, so he picked the automatically calculated 25% tip and held it out to the delivery man.

“You can use your phone or enter your phone number, it’s fine,” Jaskier offered.

The delivery man just lifted his phone and touched it to Jaskier’s. Both phones chimed and the man stepped back with another smile.

“Thanks,” he said, “have a good evening.”

“Ta, love,” Jaskier agreed, smiling back. “Drive safe.”

He shut the front door and returned to the couch. Anise flipped the locks on his front door for him, though Jaskier hardly paid attention.

“White people not spicy,” Jaskier muttered as he checked the ticket attached to the bag. “Perfect.”

Jaskier was messy while eating, but no one could watch him, so he didn’t care. Well, Anise was watching, so the Cintran government were also watching, but Jaskier still did not care. 

“Who’s monitoring my supper?” Jaskier asked Anise.

“No one, Jaskier,” Anise answered.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He carried on with his food.

He drank another 800ml of water along with his lemonade after eating. At five, Jaskier turned the TV off and took his shower; he shaved everything but his chest, stomach, and the landing strip of his bush, which he instead trimmed to a more manageable length. Once satisfactorily silky smooth, Jaskier nearly bathed himself in moisturizer. He washed his face and brushed his teeth at the sink, then entered his bedroom naked and dug through his closet for an outfit.

“What should I wear tonight,” he muttered.

“You have a dance with Priscilla later,” Anise reminded him.

“What’s she wearing?” Jaskier countered.

“I’ll ask,” Anise said. “Shall I also inform her of your pronoun preference for today?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jaskier agreed, considering his collection of platform heels.

“Priscilla is wearing neon blue and white,” Anise announced. “She does not want, quote: –”

Priscilla’s voice played through Jaskier’s speakers. “To look like any kind of twins.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mused. “Tell her I’ll wear green and black.”

Jaskier started pulling things from his closet, choosing PVC fabrics as per usual.

“Priscilla says that will be fine,” Anise said.

“Cool,” Jaskier muttered, laying things on his bed.

He put his dressing gown on again for the time being, then sat down at his desk and stuck a nail under the color-changing lamp and swiped through the colors available, picking a bright green with yellow tones. He activated the lamp and shut his eyes, then looked again when it beeped; he liked the shade, so he changed the rest of his nails to match, including his toes, since he’d be wearing open-toed shoes later.

“What’s the time?” Jaskier asked the air.

“Quarter past six,” Anise answered.

Jaskier turned on the lights around his mirror. “Remind me to wash out my ass at seven,” he said.

“I will.”

“And play something on the TV,” he added. “Reality TV, or something. Wait, put on the news.”

“You dislike watching the news,” Anise said as a bubble appeared in the lower-left corner of Jaskier’s mirror with Cintran Primary News Network.

“I still gotta know what the fuck’s going on,” Jaskier muttered, applying primer to his face.

He gave the news a quarter of his attention, picking up the major headlines when they appeared. Parliament still hadn't agreed on who should replace Calanthe, even after nine months, so Yennefer z Vengerburgu was still acting-Prime Minister. The Chain-Killer of Cintra hadn't been caught, but Vengerburgu had given a press conference about it while Jaskier had been asleep.

There was a replay, however, and Yennefer Vengerburgu had a gorgeous voice and a prettier face, so Jaskier paused to devote his full attention to her.

_“The case for the Chain-Killer murders has been transferred from the Central Cintran Public Safety Department to the Witchers of Kaer Morhen,”_ Vengerburgu said, _“where it is now being headed by Witcher Geralt Rivi, who has nearly a hundred years working for our city. What we can tell you at this point is that all of the victims were partially non-human…”_

“Hmph,” Jaskier said, returning to his makeup. “Anise, tell Priscilla that we’ve got nothing to worry about from the Chain-Killer guy, he’s only attacking non-humans.”

“Sure,” Anise replied.

Anise reminded him to douche at seven, and by then, he’d just perfected his eye makeup. Jaskier got up and entered the bathroom, removed his robe, and removed his anal cleansing supplies from under the sink. He had distilled water on tap and he filled the douche’s bulb with that. He sat on the toilet and used the bidet first even though he’d washed outside his body in the shower, then lubed up the douche nozzle and his asshole before insertion. 

He spent about half an hour in the bathroom and used the douche four times before he felt clean enough; any more wouldn’t be good for his butt, or he might’ve spent longer. He gave himself a quick wipe-down with a soapy and then just a wet washcloth, then dried off and applied moisturizer to everything he’d shaved earlier once again. After, Jaskier returned to his makeup desk and finished his face.

“It is nine o’clock,” Anise announced.

“Well, I’m done anyway,” Jaskier answered. “What’s Priss’s ETA?”

He pulled out street-clothes in the meantime; boxers, a loose pair of track pants, a jumper, and orthopedic socks. He’d wear the same shoes as that morning, which were by his bed.

“She will arrive in ten minutes,” Anise said.

“Figures,” Jaskier muttered, sitting down on his bed to put his socks on. “Tell her she’s lawful good.”

“Sure.”

Jaskier put on his pants, then considered his jumper and put on a crop top first.

“Priscilla says, quote: –”

“You’re a fugly dumbass baby who drank too much baby bitch juice,” Priscilla’s voice played over the speakers.

“You’re still lawful good,” Jaskier replied to Anise as he grabbed his shoes. “Tell her that.”

“Sure.”

Jaskier tied his shoelaces, then walked around his bed again to fix his appearance in the mirrors spanning the far wall. He pursed his lips and turned his nose up, then put on a beanie and fluffed up his bangs over his forehead under it.

“Priscilla is here,” Anise announced.

“Let her in,” Jaskier said. “Unlock the door for her and make sure it’s unlatched.”

He grabbed his gym bag and started putting his outfit for the night in it. A minute later, Priscilla kicked his door open.

“You’re a whiny little bitch with a nasty smelling coochie,” Priscilla shouted at him.

“Lawful good,” Jaskier said, wrapping his PVC items in linen to keep them from touching in his bag.

“Oh my fucking god,” Priscilla sighed. “You’re not even ready!”  
  


“Fuck you,” Jaskier countered, “it takes forty minutes to get there and we don’t have to report in until ten-thirty!”

“There’s tra–”

“Traffic,” Jaskier cut her off, then stuck his tongue out at her. “I’m almost done, gimme five seconds.”

Priscilla rolled her eyes and collapsed into his desk chair. She’d highlighted her face with blue-tones and had a dramatic white cut crease on her lids against electric blue, same as her lips. She was wearing a velour tracksuit under a puffy jacket, however. 

“Two thousand is calling,” Jaskier told her, closing his bag, “they need their Juicy Couture back.”

“Fuck you,” Priscilla said, “you’re wearing pants with different colored legs.”

“They’re actually fashionable,” Jaskier countered, “you’re wearing your worst looking clothes.”

Priscilla rolled her eyes again. “Whatever, let’s just go.”

Jaskier stuck his tongue out at her again, grabbing his trench coat from the closet. Priscilla sighed and shook her head, standing again.

“I like your nails,” Priscilla said as they took the stairs down.

“Thanks, I downloaded a new pack of colors,” Jaskier said, wiggling his fingers to let his nails and their gems catch the light. “My toes match.”

“Neat,” Priscilla said. “Did you lock your front door?”

Jaskier checked his phone, then grimaced. He activated the locks from Anise’s app and gave Priscilla a sheepish grin.

“Ohmygod, you’re just asking to get robbed,” she sighed. “I swear to the gods, if I didn’t remind you, you’d never lock up or even look both ways crossing the street.”

“The gods’ are dead, darling,” Jaskier announced, exiting onto the street. “I killed them.”

Priscilla laughed.


	4. Can’t you hear that scratching? There’s something at the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
> [Can’t you hear that scratching? There’s something at the door](https://genius.com/The-amazing-devil-that-unwanted-animal-lyrics)  
>  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
>  **cw for home invasion, attempted violence**   
>  _
> 
> _what? oh, the cw? huh? oh, haha._
> 
> _once again beta'd by[chili](https://twitter.com/chilibabie07) pls give them all your love_

#  _4: Can’t you hear that scratching? There’s something at the door_

  
  


Geralt walked to the Fox and Hound, since it would take longer to find parking. Plus, at the end of the night, he wanted to follow Pankratz home and make sure they didn’t get jumped, so getting back to his car would get in the way. The club opened at eleven and closed at four-thirty, so he left at ten, and even still, when he arrived at ten-thirty, there was a line to get in. It would take another hour to wait in line, so Geralt showed the bouncer at the door his ID.

“The fuck you need?” the bouncer demanded.

“The fuck you think I’m gonna tell you?” Geralt growled back.

The bouncer considered his badge, then his face, then scowled and stepped aside. Geralt gave them a nod and entered. There was a short hallway, then stairs going down. When he entered the club, there was only staff there, who immediately noticed him, of course. One of the bartenders hurried to meet him. Geralt just held up his badge.

“Oh,” the bartender said. “Who are you looking for?”

“Don’t know yet,” Geralt replied. “Where’s your boss?”

The bartender jerked his head to the side and turned. Geralt followed them to a kitchen, then through to an office where a man was working on a computer.

“Witcher,” the bartender just said, then left Geralt alone with the manager.

The manager stood and held out his hand. “Dymitr,” he introduced himself. “What’s the issue, Witcher?”

“Have you had complaints from your staff about patrons being too interested?” Geralt asked upfront.

Dymitr laughed. “Witcher, this is a brothel. We ban men all the time for obsessing over our people.”

“Got a list?” Geralt replied.

Dymitr stopped smiling. “Yeah,” he muttered, sitting down again.

“I’ll be here throughout the night,” Geralt continued as Dymitr went through his computer. “Tell me about Julian Pankratz.”

“Good kid,” Dymitr answered without looking back. “Transgender. Gets more patrons upstairs than most of our other people.”

“How long have they been working here?” Geralt asked.

“Three years,” Dymitr said. “Bounced around a few other clubs ‘fore I got them. I gotta pay them a fucking fortune, they get contract offers from clubs all across the damn country.”

“Hm,” Geralt answered flatly. “What’s their act?”

“Sings, mostly,” Dymitr said. “And the usual stuff, dancing, all that. They got a great voice. Could be on the radio, to be honest, if they weren’t such a whore.”

Geralt scowled at Dymitr’s casual insult. Meanwhile, Dymitr swiped up at his screen and an information box appeared above it. Geralt took out his phone and held it out to it. The computer beeped and his phone lit up, the information downloaded. He turned to leave.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to pay the cover fee,” Dymitr said.

Geralt paused in the doorway. “No,” he said, then left. 

He passed through the kitchen into the main club. With his phone, he found the club’s security camera feed and tapped it. There were twenty-three; eleven on the first floor, twelve on the second. Geralt picked a table near the bar, one by the wall, and sat down to flick through the camera feeds.

One of the feeds was in a dressing room, he guessed. He identified Pankratz at one of the makeup tables, though they weren’t fixing their makeup, they were getting dressed. Geralt pulled out Pankratz’s profile picture from the clinic, then entered it in the app and set an alert to track him through the camera feeds. He then flicked through the other feeds, familiarizing himself with the layout of the building. The second floor was ten small rooms on either side of a long hallway, each identically furnished with couches, armchairs, tables, and shag rugs. One room on the end was being cleaned by someone in a club uniform.

Geralt continued snooping through the club’s wireless information. He found a list of employees and put them into facial recognition, identifying everyone visible on the cameras. No one failed to match the list, so Geralt switched to a feed overlooking the entrance and started running the faces in line against Cintran’s Public Safety facial recognition database. He set that to working in the background and double-checked Pankratz was still in the dressing room; they were. 

It was nearly eleven by then. Geralt swept a hand over his face and left the camera feeds to check his messages. Yennefer had sent him a video of her and Ciri making a mess of his kitchen; he watched it muted and shook his head before texting her back that she’d better clean it before he got back. TLX-42 had sent him more computer trivia, which he ignored, and Vesemir had asked how Pankratz was. Geralt answered and said they were fine, as far as he could tell. Vesemir read his message immediately, then didn’t reply.

Eleven o’clock struck. Geralt sat back in the shadows and switched to the entrance feed and watched the bouncers letting in the first guests of the night. As the line outside progressed and the club filled, his facial recognition software picked out individuals with records for misdemeanors and petty crimes here and there. There were a few with drug reprimands and driving offenses, yet none of them were violent crimes worthy any attention.

Some outside were denied. Geralt watched a couple of elves make their way to the front of the queue, only to be turned away immediately by the bouncer. Geralt took a video capture of the incident and forwarded it to Yennefer. She could send it along to someone who could deal with the club for discrimination against non-humans. No other elves tried to get in.

The club filled with people and noise. The lights were low on the floor, only visible in hues of saturated colors; yellow, blue, green, pink, and purple. They swirled, though there were no strobes, and Geralt’s table was hit by a rotation of purple, blue, and pink. He checked the security cameras, but Pankratz was still in the dressing room. Geralt switched back to his messages and sent a bulk text to the recruits he had tailing the other half-sirens from the clinic. Three responded immediately, the other answered in the next few minutes, but there was no danger yet.

There was already music playing, but it changed. Geralt checked the dressing room camera feed, found Pankratz there still, and ignored the cheers by the patrons as the stage lit up. Geralt checked a camera that viewed the stage and matched the face to the employee records, then for shits and giggles, added the employee list to Cintran facial recognition search. 

The manager had a record for drug possession, convicted, but acquitted of intent to distribute despite having enough for a dealer’s stash. Three of the sex workers had been reprimanded for working without a license, another eight had been fined for working on an expired license, including Pankratz. Pankratz, however, had been pardoned the fine and given a warning after a hearing in court. Perhaps he’d had a good lawyer, but more likely he’d been given a chance to speak and his magical influence swayed the judge’s decision. Others on staff, bartenders and servers, had various petty misdemeanors on record, but nothing that was a red flag for a burgeoning serial killer.

Geralt rubbed his face, then flagged down a server. They approached and Geralt ordered a large coffee over the noise. They only nodded and left. His phone buzzed in his hand and he looked down to see Pankratz leaving the dressing room for the area behind the stage. Geralt looked around the club, examining the faces of the people he could see, yet no one stood out as having any nefarious intent. He checked the cameras backstage, and there was no one there but employees.

The server brought him a large paper cup. Geralt offered his credit ring and they held up a tablet for him to tap and sign. Geralt took a large gulp as they left, then shut his eyes to massage them. His phone buzzed. Geralt glanced down, then up again as the lights on the stage dimmed to black, and the music adjusted. He checked his phone one more time; Pankratz was entering the stage with another dancer; Priscilla Daven, no record of any consequence on file with Cintran Public Safety.

Geralt watched for a second as Pankratz and Daven took up positions, but moved on, scanning the crowd. 

“Callonetta and the Lark!” the DJ announced, to cheers amongst the crowd.

Geralt still didn’t see anyone that looked out of place; too absorbed, too bored, too anything. He glanced at the stage one more time as the lights rose, but focused on his phone again to check the list of complaints he’d gotten from Dymitr.

“Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your girlfriend!”

Geralt’s gaze moved up of its own accord before he realized that he was even distracted. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, then picked up his coffee and drank half of it. Vesemir claimed Pankratz was no more than a quarter-siren, but the allure Geralt could feel in their voice was much too strong. Unless Daven was also part-siren, Pankratz was definitely half-siren. How he’d gotten through life without that ending up on his record was odd, but perhaps he’d persuaded doctors to ignore it. Geralt’s medallion thrummed against his breast and he looked around, feeling anxious and keyed up, yet nothing ticked off his instincts as he scanned the crowd. 

He read Pankratz’s complaints from the past few weeks. There were very few, mostly about patrons who were too interested in him. One, dated the night before, claimed that a man had ignored Pankratz’s solicitations entirely. Geralt wasn’t sure if that counted as a complaint. 

The low light around him and looking at his phone was giving him a headache. Geralt finished his coffee, then put his phone down and looked up at the stage again, just in time to see Pankratz leaving as the lights dimmed. Daven was still on stage, posing to begin another set. Geralt rubbed his temples and checked the dressing room camera again. Pankratz was at a makeup table, facing away from the lens. 

Geralt got another cup of coffee. He watched Pankratz leave the dressing room, this time to enter the club floor. They went to the bar and Geralt paid careful attention to the way their drink was mixed through the camera behind the bar. Geralt looked up, leaving the poorly lit camera feeds to look with his own eyes as Pankratz took their drink and faced his direction.

Pankratz looked Geralt right in the eye and smiled. Geralt felt a lurch somewhere in his stomach. Pankratz sipped their drink without breaking eye contact, then slid through the crowd in Geralt’s direction. 

Geralt glanced around, lips thinning, and back again. Pankratz’s clothing, bright green or clear in some sort of vinyl or plastic fabric, reflected the light and nearly glowed, giving their skin ghostly highlights under shadows that shifted through pink, purple, and blue as they approached. Geralt seemed to recall them wearing some sort of crown on the stage earlier, but now they were wearing a halo. There was a bow around their neck, heart-shaped appliques over their nipples and nothing else to cover their chest, their waist and stomach bound by a corset and hips covered by a short bustle that was open in the front. Metal flashed and Geralt noticed the underwear Pankratz was wearing had a zipper in the front as if it were meant to be opened entirely. It probably was, given the location. Pankratz had hair across their chest and going down their stomach to the crotch, which surprised Geralt; it was by no means off-putting, rather, drawing the eye down their torso to the plump bulge of their anatomy inside the flashy, zippered underwear.

Vesemir certainly hadn't exaggerated when he said Geralt would like Pankratz.

Pankratz alighted themself gracefully in the barstool across from Geralt. Geralt fixed them with a hard stare. Pankratz, at once, captured their lower lip between their teeth and cast a glanced down Geralt’s torso to his belt, before once again meeting his gaze boldly.

“Hello, darling,” Pankratz purred. “You look familiar? Have we met?”

“No,” Geralt lied.

Pankratz smirked. Their lips were green, and that wasn’t the lighting. They shone as well, reflecting gold that matched the sunburst of a halo on their head. 

“You’re a Witcher,” Pankratz announced.

Geralt grunted.

“How’s the night treating you so far?” Pankratz asked. “Has anyone offered to make your… acquaintance?”

Their voice dripped with a magical allure. Any other poor sod would be emptying their credit account already. Geralt clenched his fists.

“No,” he said shortly.

Pankratz gasped softly; a little inhale of admittedly false surprise Geralt could hardly hear over the music. Pankratz then clucked their tongue and reached across the table, sliding long, sharp nails across Geralt’s fist.

“What a shame,” Pankratz mused. “My name is Jaskier, darling. I’d be happy to entertain you for the night.”

Geralt thinned his lips. “No, thank you,” he said. 

“Anything I could do to change your mind?” Pankratz asked.

Geralt gritted his teeth. “I’m… Straight,” he lied with great reluctance.

Pankratz pouted. Geralt grimaced and cursed Vesemir for going out of town. If he’d been here for any other damn reason, he’d’ve taken the loss to his credit account and gotten his dick sucked, or ridden, and it would have been downright grand, he was positive. Alas, he was fucking working. He couldn’t fuck a bloke he was tailing to catch a serial killer.

“Pity,” Pankratz sighed, swirling the pad of a finger over the back of Geralt’s hand. “My experience with Witchers has been magnanimous so far.”

Geralt blinked. He didn’t even know what that word meant.

Pankratz did not leave. They propped their chin on a hand and drummed their nails against their own face, lips pursing. Geralt did not have an excuse to look away, so he didn’t.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Pankratz asked.

Geralt felt that tug of magic in his gut, only noticeable as he was trained to feel magical effects. Of course, Pankratz was attractive, objectively. 

“Sure,” Geralt agreed.

Pankratz smiled. A lesser man would call it dazzling. Or perhaps a greater one. Geralt cleared his throat and took a gulp of his coffee, then almost choked as he felt a platform shoe brush up against his ankle and slide up his calf.

“All the Witchers I’ve met have had quite lovely countenances,” Pankratz added. “What do you do? As a Witcher, I mean.”

Geralt let out his breath, and firstly he moved his leg away from Pankratz’s and pinned his knees close together. Pankratz made no sign of being bothered by that, or that they’d even noticed. They just smiled innocently and batted their lashes. Geralt cleared his throat again.

“I investigate the deaths of non-humans,” he said.

Pankratz’s expression flickered. They sat back, blinking. “Oh,” they said. “Like – like the Chain-Killer?”

Geralt thinned his lips once more and growled under his breath; he hadn't meant to reveal so much, he hadn't wanted to cause Pankratz to worry. But he’d said it and Pankratz had made the connection, he just flicked his eyebrows up.

“Ah,” Pankratz said. “I see. Fascinating. Hm. Well, I’ll let you enjoy your – your coffee,” they concluded, glancing at Geralt’s drink. “Have a good night, darling.”

Geralt nodded. Pankratz slid out of the seat and wandered off, but Geralt continued to watch them.

Pankratz went into the dressing room again. Geralt checked the camera feed and found Pankratz talking to a group of their co-workers. Within seconds, several were peeking out into the club in his direction. Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated growl. He anticipated the whole club would be aware of his presence and his business in the next five minutes. 

“Fuck you, Vesemir,” Geralt growled.

Another sex worker sat down across from Geralt, a woman, and she graced him with a practiced smile that he expected was false.

“Hello, love,” she said, “how’s your night going?”

Geralt let out his breath. “No, thank you,” he said. “All due respect,” he added, lifting his credit ring.

The woman shrugged and offered her wrist. Geralt tapped his ring against her implant and glanced at his phone to see his credit balance drop by forty. The woman left him alone and Geralt sucked on his teeth for a moment, then opened a business expense form and started a tab.

Pankratz left the dressing room again. Geralt watched through the cameras only. Pankratz looked towards the south-west corner by the kitchens, Geralt did not look up, and then Pankratz headed to the other side of the club. They flitted around for a few minutes, spoke for perhaps three with another patron – Geralt ran their face through Cintran PD and found no record, just a name –, then took them by the hand and led them to the stairs to the second floor. Geralt wasn’t sure if that was impressive. He checked the camera feeds on the second floor and got several eyefuls of multiple people having sex. Geralt grimaced, but perhaps he should have expected that. Pankratz and their client took an empty room and Geralt put his phone down.

He drank more coffee and watched the stairs. Some people came back down and some went up, but all were stopped by a bouncer and made to sign in or out and accompanied by a sex worker. Pankratz and their patron re-emerged on the first floor again in about thirty minutes, and at once, Pankratz ducked into the dressing room. Their lipstick was smeared. Geralt picked up his phone and checked. There were a few employees there with them, but Pankratz fixed their makeup and returned to the club floor.

This repeated again and again until two in the morning, when Pankratz got on stage for twenty minutes. Geralt resisted the induced urge to watch and drool, and it was fucking annoying. The fucking zipper on Pankratz underwear/panties/whatever the fuck they were kept catching his attention; annoying. Pankratz touched their palms flat to the floor with their knees locked straight, standing with their feet farther than shoulder-width apart, while wearing heels that were at least 15 centimeters; annoying. The fact that the green accents in Pankratz’s outfit, including their eye makeup and halo, glowed under the blacklights; fucking _annoying._ Pankratz was every preconception of a siren Geralt had ever encountered: Flashy and attention-grabbing and entrancing. He was belatedly glad that he hadn't sent any of the greener Witchers on this job; any of them would’ve fucked Pankratz already and been distracted. Geralt focused on the crowd. Unfortunately, no one stood out.

Pankratz resumed trawling for Johns after singing. Geralt watched them find a client and lead them to the stairs, then waited until they came back down again. Geralt drank four more cups of coffee.

Four AM came and bouncers swarmed the club to usher out the patrons. Geralt let himself be herded out with the rest, as he had Pankratz on camera in the dressing room. The dancers were changing into street clothes, so Geralt switched to watching the back exit from the kitchen, where they’d leave from when they were done. He walked around the building to the parking lot and leaned against a wall in the shadows of an alley nearby and watched the exit in person.

Dancers streamed out in groups of twos or more. Most seemed to be carpooling and none left the property alone or on foot. Near four-thirty, Pankratz left with the woman he’d danced with earlier by his side. They approached a car and got in, the woman driving and Pankratz in the passenger seat. Geralt slipped from the alley and onto the street beyond, taking a moment to disconnect from the Fox and Hound’s security cameras as he did.

There was always traffic in Cintra, so Geralt was able to follow Pankratz’s car on foot. He kept back a fair distance at all times. It wasn’t far to the building Pankratz lived in and Geralt watched from across the street as Pankratz climbed a flight of exterior stairs to a fifth-floor apartment.

Pankratz’s ride left as they entered the apartment. Geralt moved out of the shadows, eyes narrowed, and he waited a moment. There was one window on the west-facing wall, which he was looking directly at, and three on the north wall, where the door was. Geralt saw lights turning on inside the apartment and the shadow of Pankratz moving inside.

Geralt took out his phone to scan for nearby security cameras, and as he did, he heard a muffled scream.

Geralt slammed his phone back into his pocket and ran across the street, to honks and shouting from drivers in traffic. There was another scream, definitely coming from Pankratz’s apartment, accompanied by a heavy thud, audible even at a distance, as Geralt sprinted up the five flights of stairs. He reached Pankratz’s landing and without hesitation, reared back and slammed his boot into the middle of the door. It flew open, the door splitting from the deadbolts and chain locking it, and Geralt drew his tranq crossbow and ID, storming in while Pankratz screamed again.

“FREEZE, WITCHERS!” Geralt yelled. 

A figure in a hood dove out the window. Geralt ran back outside, caught the figure sliding down a pipe, and fired at their center mass three times. They kept going and Geralt started to run back down the stairs, but Pankratz screamed a fourth time. That lurch of magical allure caught his stomach and Geralt hesitated for just a split second. 

The figure hit the ground and vanished into an alley. 

“Fuck!” Geralt snapped.

He lowered his crossbow again and yanked out his phone, speed-dialing Kaer Morhen. He stepped back in the apartment and found Pankratz sprawled on the floor, arms over their head in a defensive position.

“Witchers,” Geralt just said in their direction, sweeping the muzzle of his crossbow across the empty kitchen.

Pankratz only whimpered. Geralt checked a pantry, then stepped around Pankratz to clear the closet and bathroom. There was no one else there. Geralt put away his crossbow and knelt by Panktraz’s side, putting a light hand on their shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

Pankratz made another pathetic noise. Geralt’s phone buzzed and he lifted it to his ear again.

_“Go for Kaer Morhen,”_ Eskel answered.

“I need recruits on foot searching around Trinity and Fletcher,” Geralt ordered, “suspect is wearing a hood, average build and slightly taller than average height.”

“Red eyes,” Pankratz whimpered into the ground.

Geralt glanced down at them. “Red eyes,” he repeated. “Kid, did you see anything else?”

Pankratz sat up then. They wiped streaked blood from their chin, inhaling sharply. Geralt heard Eskel on the phone with central dispatch. Pankratz cleared their throat.

“Red eyes, late fifties or sixties,” Pankratz said in a numb tone. “Graying beard, receding hairline, almost white. Black eyebrows with a scar on the left eyebrow.”

Geralt blinked. “Eskel, did you catch that?”

_“Yeah,”_ Eskel agreed.

“Did he have his hood off?” Geralt asked.

“No,” Pankratz whispered. “He delivered my takeout order this afternoon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yeet_


	5. Count my cards, watch them fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Count my cards, watch them fall](https://genius.com/Billie-eilish-you-should-see-me-in-a-crown-lyrics#note-14999005)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _pst there's something sexy coming_

#  _5: Count my cards, watch them fall_

  
  


Jaskier trembled on the floor of his apartment, shaken, and two seconds from lurching onto the Witcher before them to cling in anxiety. The Witcher touched his shoulder gently, looking at him with a certain carefulness.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

Jaskier nodded. He wiped his chin again, then glanced at his hand and gasped; blood. He was bleeding.

“Oh, gods,” he whispered in a rapid voice. “Oh, fuck, _fuck –”_

“Calm down,” the Witcher told him quickly. “I’m going to call an ambulance and –”

“Oh, don’t do that, I can’t afford it!” Jaskier gasped. “Please, my health insurance is bare minimum, I’ll be fine –”

“Okay, okay, I’ll take you to a free clinic,” the Witcher cut him off. “You’ll be fine. Does your nose feel broken?”

Jaskier gasped again and nearly grabbed at his nose. He sighed in relief and shook his head upon finding it intact. He touched his lip instead, ran his tongue across his mouth, and tasted blood.

“Must’ve cut my cheek on my teeth or something,” he murmured.

The Witcher touched his face. Jaskier looked up as the Witcher’s fingers, surprisingly soft and warm, inspected the soft flesh under his chin.

“You’ll be bruised,” he said. “Skin’s split here.”

The Witcher got up. Jaskier touched his chin, where he had indeed been cut when he fell, and watched as the Witcher stepped into his kitchen and opened the freezer. Jaskier frowned, but said nothing. The Witcher came back with a bag of frozen mango.

“Here,” he said, holding it out. “I imagine it would be bad for your career if you were black and blue in the face.”

Jaskier took the frozen fruit with a weak smile and held the bag against his face. The Witcher knelt again, then pulled out a badge.

“I’m Witcher Rivii,” he said, showing Jaskier. “Where was the suspect when you entered?”

Jaskier turned and pointed to the open closet door. “I don’t know how he got in,” he mumbled. “My AI has the best security package available, she would’ve called an emergency center – But – But –”

“He probably hacked it,” Witcher Rivii said. “Why don’t you try standing up? Are you sure you don’t want to visit a hospital?”

Jaskier glanced around, then looked to Witcher Rivii and held out his hand. Witcher Rivii hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took Jaskier’s hand and pulled so Jaskier could stand. On his feet, Jaskier was shaking, but not dizzy.

“I’m not sure I could afford a hospital visit,” Jaskier repeated. “Maybe – Maybe urgent care, I don’t know.”

“Urgent care, then,” Witcher Rivii said. “I’ll have a car come pick you up. I’m going to need my people to examine the apartment for a while, is there anyone you can stay with for the next few days?”

Jaskier hesitated, covering his mouth. They shrugged.

“I don’t know,” they mumbled. “I mean – There’s Priss, but she’s got roommates and they’ve got children – I mean…”

Witcher Rivii raised his eyebrows. “What about family?”

Jaskier shook their head. “Vesemir!” he gasped, looking to Witcher Rivii. “Could you ask him if – If it’s not too presumptuous, I mean, he’s just a client, but – It would be really helpful and I’d feel safer with him –”

“Vesemir’s out of town at the moment,” Witcher Rivii cut Jaskier off again.

Jaskier shrank. He looked around his apartment once more and wondered who amongst his co-workers he could feasibly convince to allow him to crash on their sofa for the next few days. Or weeks. They felt very unsafe in his home now.

Witcher Rivii sighed. “You can still stay at Kaer Morhen,” he said. “We have rooms for people who need them.”

Jaskier whipped their head around to gawk at him and gasped. “ _Oh,_ ” they exhaled, “thank you!”

They gave in and surged forward to hug Witcher Rivii. Witcher Rivii patted their back with one stiff hand. Jaskier drew back, hugging themselves, instead. 

“It’ll be easier to interview you, anyway,” Witcher Rivii muttered. “Look, why don’t you – Pack a bag or something. I have to call back- up.”

Jaskier nodded. Witcher Rivii backed off, lifting his phone to his ear again, and Jaskier looked around once more. Just a few days, he reasoned. But it was Thursday night, he would have to work Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. He did _not_ want to, but it wouldn’t be good for his credit account. He sighed and put down the frozen mango. He’d have to just decide his outfits for the next three nights now.

“Try not to touch anything the intruder might’ve touched,” Witcher Rivii called as Jaskier stepped towards the closet.

“But –” Jaskier started. “I need things from there for work this week.”

“I’ll bring you back tomorrow after the forensics team clears the place,” Witcher Rivii offered. “Get what you need just for tonight.”

Jaskier deflated. He nodded and changed course for the bathroom while Witcher Rivii continued talking in the background.

Jaskier swept his whole skincare shelf into the folded-up bottom of his jumper. He was going to break-out after this, he just knew it. He grabbed his overnight kit from under the sink as well, then went back into the bedroom and dumped everything from his gym bag onto the bed, refilling it with his skincare. Witcher Rivii had stepped onto the stairs outside. Jaskier glanced around the empty apartment and shivered. He hastily grabbed pajamas and clean clothes for the morning, his muscular pain relief creams and heating pad, stuffed them all into his bag, and then shoved his emotional support plushie and blankie in as well. 

Witcher Rivii stepped back in, no longer on the phone. He grunted in Jaskier’s direction as Jaskier was zipping his bag shut.

“Car’ll be here in a second,” he said. “While it’s still fresh in your mind, what happened when you came in?”

Jaskier let out his breath and let his arms hang loosely at his side. He thought back, but it was already a blur in his memory.

“I walked in,” he said. “Anise – My AI – She –…”

He frowned. “Anise should’ve said hi,” he muttered, “but she didn’t…”  
  


Witcher Rivii raised an eyebrow. “Is she active?”

“Anise?” Jaskier called, looking around.

There was no reply.

“He must’ve switched it off somehow,” Witcher Rivii said, reaching into his trench coat to take out a notepad and pen.

“I guess,” Jaskier muttered. “I came in and I put my bag on the bed. I went into the bathroom to wash my face, then I came back out here because I forgot something… I don’t remember what I forgot… He – He came out of the closet and –”  
  


Witcher Rivii nodded encouragingly. Jaskier glanced at the closet, then shivered again. He grabbed his bag and hurried to the other side of the apartment, dropping onto the sofa.

“He came out of the closet, he had the chain, I screamed, you came in,” Jaskier said flatly. “I didn’t even notice the window was open.”

“That’s normal,” Witcher Rivii told him. “Don’t feel bad.”

Jaskier sucked in his breath. He let it out, then wiped his face just to do something.

“Fuck, I still have my makeup on,” Jaskier muttered.

“You can take it off at Kaer Morhen,” Witcher Rivii offered.

Jaskier nodded. “I probably look like a disaster,” he muttered. “At least, more than usual.”

Witcher Rivii grunted. “Do you think you’d be up to talking to a sketch artist tonight?”

Jaskier shrugged. Witcher Rivii just nodded and checked his phone.

“Car’s downstairs,” he said. “C’mon. I’ll stick with you.”

Jaskier stood on shaking legs. He hung his bag from his shoulders and stepped outside. Witcher Rivii pulled the door shut, but the frame was broken so it wouldn’t shut properly or lock.

“One of my people is on his way up to babysit,” Witcher Rivii said. “Don’t worry about the door either, we’ll replace it.”

Jaskier nodded, hugging himself. Witcher Rivii touched his back as they stepped to the stairs. Jaskier felt better for the touch, and was grateful.

Another Witcher passed them on the stairs. They nodded to Witcher Rivii and just kept going. Jaskier shrank in on himself, cold. 

“I forgot my coat,” Jaskier muttered.

“We’ll be in the car in a second,” Witcher Rivii said.

  
Jaskier nodded. He didn’t want to go back upstairs, anyway.

The van outside his building would definitely be attracting attention, but then again, Witcher Rivii screaming probably would’ve garnered it in the first place. Witcher Rivii put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder as he got in, guiding him again, and Jaskier shot him a grateful smile. From most people, it would’ve been annoying, but usually, Jaskier isn’t reeling from having a serial killer invading his home and attempting to choke him out with a massive silver chain.

Witcher Rivii got in the backseat with him. “Head for World Tree clinic on Eightieth,” he said to the Witcher driving.

The Witcher just pulled away from the curb. No more words were spoken.

Jaskier glanced around, biting his tongue to not break the silence. He had the urge to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He wasn’t sure the Witchers would appreciate a long list of random facts about the Antarctic or how peat bogs made mummies. 

It occurred to him that Priscilla would be worried. She probably wouldn’t have gotten far before Witcher Rivii fired his crossbow. Jaskier took out his phone and checked his texts, to find several from Priscilla.

Priss: **_Babe I just heard screaming_ **

Priss: **_Are you okay??_ **

Priss: **_Jassie are you okay_ **

Priss: **_Jaskier Is2g if you don’t reply_ **

Priss: **_JASKIER THERE ARE WITCHERS OUTSIDE ARE YOU OKAY_ **

Jaskier cleared his lungs and his head before replying.

_To Priss: I’m okay, I’m with the Witchers._

He wasn’t sure what else to say. The Chain-Killer broke into his place and tried to kill him? A Witcher was conveniently right nearby and saved his life? He’s going to stay with the monster patrol for the next few days? Jaskier groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose; he felt bad for thinking about Witchers like that, they were people, too.

“You alright?” Witcher Rivii asked.

Jaskier glanced sideways and nodded. His phone buzzed in his hand.

Priss: **_Where are they taking you? I already texted Zoltan, he’s ready to come BEAT some bullshit registrar ass_ **

Jaskier smiled weakly, looking at his phone. Zoltan Chivay had represented him and several others from the _Fox and Hound_ in court; he was a sweetheart, and drank his Respect Sex Workers juice regularly. Still, Jaskier wasn’t being arrested. While trying to decide how to tell Priscilla, his thoughts drifted.

“I thought the Chain-Killer was going after non-humans,” Jaskier said quietly.

Witcher Rivii glanced at him and away. “Hm,” he said, looking out of the window.

Jaskier felt his chest grip tight. “Witcher?” he questioned anxiously. “Are – This guy’s going after humans and non-humans? Which is it?”

Witcher Rivii exhaled. “I can’t say,” he said, looking into the front seat.

Jaskier glanced forward. The Witcher driving them was staring directly at the road. Jaskier bit his lip.

“Maybe it was a copycat,” he muttered. “Maybe it’s just… some sicko Yandere who was targeting me specifically.”

“Yandere…?” Witcher Rivii repeated in a whisper.

Jaskier exhaled and shook his head, forcing a laugh. “I’m sure it’s a copycat,” he insisted. “It has to be. That, or – Or you’re wrong and the Chain-Killer isn’t only going after non-humans.”

“Hm,” Witcher Rivii replied.

Jaskier felt like punching him now. “Are you always this talkative, love?” he asked.

“Are you?” Witcher Rivii countered.

Jaskier laughed humorlessly. He shook his head and looked back at his phone.

_To Priss: There may have been a man hiding in my closet when I got back. One of my Witcher Sugar Daddies was in the area and rescued me. He’s taking me to urgent care now._

Jaskier gave himself a nod, feeling satisfied. Priscilla wouldn’t question that he was with a Witcher and wouldn’t be worried about getting attacked by the Chain-Killer. She would still be worried, but it was best she knew the truth.

“Why were you so close?” Jaskier then asked, just as he realized it.

“I was on my way back to Kaer Morhen,” Witcher Rivii answered.

Jaskier glanced at him. Witcher Rivii was looking out the window, expression stony. He looked just like Vesemir did whenever Jaskier asked how his day had been.

“You’re not telling me something,” Jaskier insisted.

“Hm,” Witcher Rivii said for a _third fucking time._

“Do you say _anything_ else, darling?” Jaskier demanded. “I mean, we are talking about the _attempt on my life_ just now. Perhaps you have more to tell me than just _“hm”_?”

Witcher Rivii glanced ahead and raised an eyebrow. “I can’t say anything for sure right now,” he said.

Jaskier laughed again, feeling distantly hysterical, clapping a hand to his forehead. “Ohmygod, are you a politician?” he asked.

“I’m a Witcher,” Witcher Rivii said plainly, looking away.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier muttered under his breath.

“Hmph,” Witcher Rivii _said a-fucking-gain._

Jaskier covered his face with both hands. He sucked in a breath and tried to stop the bubbling panic. Witcher Rivii glanced at him, then reached over and gripped his shoulder without speaking. Jaskier inhaled again and grabbed Witcher Rivii’s hand, holding it against himself.

Witcher Rivii still didn’t say anything. He didn’t let go of Jaskier’s shoulder, either, so Jaskier didn’t let go of his hand.

They stopped outside the World Tree clinic. Jaskier hadn't even been listening or paying attention to where they were going, but this was his regular clinic. Witcher Rivii got out and held the door open so Jaskier could slide across the bench. Witcher Rivii also gripped Jaskier’s elbow as he stepped out of the car onto the curb. Jaskier shot him a smile. 

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to imprint on you,” he warned jokingly. “I’m worse than a baby duckling.”

“Hm,” Witcher Rivii answered.

“You’re infuriating,” Jaskier added immediately.

Witcher Rivii raised an eyebrow. Jaskier shook his head, looking away.

Witcher Rivii opened the door to the clinic for him. Jaskier stepped inside, hugging himself again as the gentle warmth of the clinic’s central heating took over the chill from the air outside. He walked up to the front desk, rubbing his hands against his sleeved arms, and a nurse picked up a tablet at once.

“Check-in and we’ll call you when we’re ready,” they said.

Jaskier took the tablet. The nurse looked up as he did and they scowled at Witcher Rivii.

“You need to see more of our records?” they asked coldly.

“I’m escorting your patient,” Witcher Rivii answered blandly as Jaskier glanced between them.

The nurse soured their face. They looked down and didn’t say anything else. Jaskier looked at Witcher Rivii, brow furrowed. Witcher Rivii looked at the floor with a blank expression. 

“You were here earlier?” Jaskier asked.

“Accessed our records and deleted the request when he was done,” the nurse answered for Witcher Rivii. “Typical.”

“Why did you need to see their records?” Jaskier demanded.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Witcher Rivii said.

“Bullshit,” Jaskier snapped, then shook his head and looked down at the tablet. 

“Hm,” Witcher Rivii answered.

Jaskier shot him another look and shook his head. He put the tablet close to his body and stood so Witcher Rivii couldn’t see the screen.

The clinic had all of his information, to begin with, he only had to enter his name, date of birth, and why he was there. His face was pretty banged up, but his neck was beginning to hurt, and his knees and wrists were sore from their impact with his carpet. The man in his closet had thrown him to the ground quite hard, and had been about to straddle him when Witcher Rivii had busted the door open. Belatedly, Jaskier realized he’d need to ask Zoltan for help getting the Witchers to pay for his destroyed door.

Jaskier handed the tablet back to the nurse. The nurse sanitized it and Jaskier stepped away to sit down. Witcher Rivii followed him, but didn’t sit. Jaskier glanced up at him and almost felt uncomfortable with his close presence.

“You’re not telling me a lot of things,” he said.

“Yes,” Witcher Rivii answered.

“Why?” Jaskier demanded.

“Because we’re surrounded by mandated reporters,” Witcher Rivii said calmly. “Also video cameras. I can explain more once we’re in Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier blinked. Witcher Rivii turned to the side, folding his hands behind his back. Jaskier leaned against the arm of the chair, putting his chin in his palm, and slumped over his bag in his lap. He wished, not for the first time, that he had Vesemir’s phone number. He could ask if Witcher Rivii was trustworthy.

And what the _fuck_ Witcher Rivii meant with _“mandated reporters and video cameras.”_

“Julian Pankratz.”

Jaskier got up and followed the nurse calling him. Witcher Rivii did, too.

“Do you have authority to accompany him?” the nurse asked at once.

Witcher Rivii stopped. He stepped back. Jaskier glanced back and forth between the nurse and the Witcher.

“Thanks,” Jaskier said softly to Witcher Rivii. 

The nurse waved him back. 

Jaskier stood on a scale, took off his shoes to let the nurse measure his height, and tapped his fingers together rapidly as general anxiety filled him. The nurse helped him get on a paper-covered table and took out a drawer of bandages and tape. Without a word, they cleaned the cut on his chin, taped it together, and bandaged it.

“You can replace that in about twelve hours,” they said. “Keep it clean and covered for a few days. The tape can come off in another day.”

Jaskier nodded. The nurse put away the supplies, then took out a plastic-wrapped gown.

“Take off everything, but you can leave your socks and your underwear on,” they recited. “Take off all jewelry, even non-metal ones. Do you have any implants?”

“Two,” Jaskier said softly, “credit implant in my wrist and head and an IUD.”

The nurse took out another plastic bag with a fabric cuff. “Put this over the implant in your wrist,” they said. “Someone from X-ray will come in in a few minutes to take you back.”

Jaskier gave a nod. The nurse handed him the gown and cuff and left him alone. Jaskier got up and stripped off. He took out his earrings and put them in a pocket of his bag, then tucked his phone and clothes into the main compartment. He was glad he’d been allowed to leave his socks on, it was very cold in the room. Jaskier sat down on the table again, shivering in the thin gown, and hugged himself.

Another nurse came in a minute later. “Time for your X-ray, love,” they said. “Everything off?”

“They said I could leave my underwear and socks on,” Jaskier answered, slipping off the table.

“That’s fine,” the X-ray tech answered. “Come on, follow me. Any chance of being pregnant?”

“No,” Jaskier said, following out of the room. “I have an IUD.”

“When was your last period?” the X-ray tech asked.

“Um, a couple of weeks back,” Jaskier said. “I don’t remember the exact date.”

The X-ray tech opened a door for him. Jaskier stepped inside and hugged himself again, feeling colder.

“Gonna have you standing up,” the tech told him, walking to a solid backdrop. “We’re just scanning your neck right now to rule out any fractures, but we may scan your knees and wrists later since you said they were hurting, as well. Back to this.”

Jaskier stood against the backdrop. The tech touched his shoulders and helped him reposition.

“I’ll have you move a few times,” they said. “Keep your shoulders relaxed, chin slightly up.”

Jaskier did his best to relax. The tech left him to step behind a computer.

“Relax,” they said as the machine in front of Jaskier hummed to life. “Inhale, then let it out and hold it. Gonna do it in three, two, one –”

Jaskier held his breath. The X-ray machine whined, then flashed and he blinked reflexively.

“Very good, now turn and face the other wall; put your right side to the machine.”

Jaskier turned. He was told to hold his breath and again, the machine flashed. The tech took a few more images of his left side and his back. Then they were done.

“Could I put my jumper back on?” he asked at the door. “I’m cold.”

“Sure,” the tech answered. “The doctor will be in with you in a few minutes.”

Jaskier returned to his room. He put his jumper on again and unlocked his phone. Priss had texted him several more times, a lot of all caps messages asking what the fuck had happened. She wanted to know where he was, too, to come get him. Jaskier rubbed at his eyes and let out his breath.

_To Priss: I’m fine and I’m safe, I’m at World Tree clinic_

In a second, he got a notification that she was driving. Jaskier sighed and lay back on the table. He was developing a headache.

A minute later, someone knocked. Jaskier called for them to come in and a doctor entered, holding a tablet.

“So, what happened?” they asked, scrolling on the tablet.

“A man was hiding in my closet when I got home and jumped me,” Jaskier said.

The doctor looked up over their glasses. “Say again?”

“A man was hiding in my closet and jumped me,” Jaskier repeated.

“Have emergency services been notified?” 

“Yeah,” Jaskier answered tiredly.

The doctor put down the tablet, put on hand sanitizer, then gloves. “So, what, he jumped you, and what happened?”

“He knocked me down and I hit the floor,” Jaskier said. “My chin hit the floor first, I also caught myself with my hands.”

The doctor took his hands and felt his wrists gently. Then made him move his hand around, stretch his wrists, and squeeze their fingers.

“And the knees?” they asked.

“Hit the ground hard,” Jaskier explained.

The doctor felt his knees, then made him move his legs. Nothing hurt particularly, he was just sore.

“Your X-rays don’t show any fractures,” the doctor said. “But I’m sure you’re very sore. Show me your range of motion? Whatever’s comfortable, don’t push yourself to pain.”

Jaskier nodded, then looked up and down and side-to-side. The doctor hummed.

“I have a headache, too,” Jaskier said.

“That’s understandable. I’ll give you something for the pain and soreness,” they said. “Did anything happen after you hit the ground?”

“The Witcher that brought me in broke in my door,” Jaskier said. “So he didn’t have time to hurt me.”  
  


“Okay,” the doctor answered. “This man in your closet, was it a domestic partner?”

Jaskier shook his head. “Don’t know who it was.”

“Was it the Witcher?” the doctor asked, eyebrows lifting.

“No,” Jaskier said. 

The doctor gave a nod. “I’ll give you a referral to a trauma counselor with your meds. Do you have a regular pharmacy or would you like us to fill out the prescription?”

“Here is fine,” Jaskier said.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “Go ahead and get dressed again. When you get home, put heat and ice on your neck.”

“Can you give me anything for bruising?” Jaskier asked. “For my chin or my knees?”

“Sure,” the doctor said. “It’ll be just a minute, okay?”

Jaskier nodded again. The doctor patted his leg and left him alone. Jaskier took the gown off and put his clothes back on, grateful to be dressed in long pants, then lay down again.

Priss: **_It’ll be an hour before I get there. What’s going on?_ **

_To Priss: I’ve already been seen and they’re letting me out soon. I’m going to stay at Kaer Morhen for a few days. My apartment is a crime scene._

Jaskier put his phone down again and covered his eyes. The bright lights in the room worsened his headache.

In another ten minutes, a nurse came in with discharge papers and his prescriptions. Jaskier signed everything and listened as the nurse explained the medications; a pill and a cream. Then, they let him go and he exited to the waiting room again.

Witcher Rivii was still standing when he entered. He waited for Jaskier to walk up to him and raised his eyebrows.

“No broken bones,” Jaskier said, then yawned. “Love, I am _fucking_ tired.”

“One of my brothers is waiting with a car,” Witcher Rivii offered. 

Jaskier nodded appreciatively. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked his messages from Priss; she was heading to Kaer Morhen and would be there in almost an hour.

“A friend is heading to Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier said carefully as he followed Witcher Rivii out of the clinic again. “She’s worried about me.”

“What’s her name?” Witcher Rivii asked, taking out his own phone.

“Priscilla Daven,” Jaskier said.

“I’ll tell the guard to let her in,” Witcher Rivii offered. “This way.”

There was a beat-up lime green SUV parked under a tree. The lights flashed and Witcher Rivii walked up to it, opening a rear door.

“This is the ugliest car I’ve ever seen,” Jaskier said.

“Thanks,” the driver answered, “this fucker had it repainted for my birthday without asking my opinion.”

“This is Eskel,” Witcher Rivii told Jaskier. “You can just call him Eskel, he doesn’t have a surname.”

Eskel offered Jaskier a peace sign in the rearview mirror. Jaskier got in and crossed an aisle to the farther seat. Witcher Rivii got in with him and shut the door again.

“Y’all kids need anything ‘fore we head back to the keep?,” Eskel asked as he drove away from the curb.

Jaskier glanced at Witcher Rivii and shrugged. Witcher Rivii sighed and shook his head.

“I'm serious," Eskel added. "Booze? Condoms?"

Jaskier blinked.

"Eskel," Witcher Rivii growled. "That was wildly inappropriate. Apologize."

"Sorry," Eskel offered, actually sounding sincere.

"I bet you have condoms already," Jaskier joked weakly.

"That's irrelevant," Witcher Rivii said. "You're under our protection, you're not here for fun."

"Sorry," Eskel repeated. "That was rude."

Jaskier smiled tightly. "Thanks," he muttered.

"We do already have booze, as well," Witcher Rivii added. "Eskel _will be happy to share,"_ he finished in another growl.

"Yes," Eskel said immediately. "Of course."

Jaskier chuckled lightly, unsure how else to respond. Witcher Rivii nodded, though he still looked pissed. Jaskier cleared his throat and looked out of the window.

They passed by run-down homeless shelters, paved-over parks, and low-income housing. Jaskier realized he'd never been to this part of Cintra. He saw more and more aggressive graffiti, mostly disparaging non-humans. 

"Is this common?" Jaskier asked.

"Sure," Eskel answered. "Geralt, that one's new."

Witcher Rivii took out his phone. Jaskier leaned forward to see; they were already passing it, but the paint reflected the light: No humans, no schools. Jaskier swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Tocca is on her way," Witcher Rivii said calmly.

"Better not be the electronic shit," Eskel muttered. "I still don't know how to get it off."

"Are there no schools here?" Jaskier asked.

"One," Witcher Rivii said. "Kaer Eolas. Private school funded by us."

"I thought Witchers trained at Kaer Morhen?" Jaskier replied. 

"It's for non-human children," Witcher Rivii said plainly.

"Oh," Jaskier said, then fell silent. 

He looked out of the window again. He hadn't known many non-humans at school, he realized. He'd never thought about it.

"Edrá went home, did you hear?" Eskel asked. "Still got some tinnitus, but she's alright."

Witcher Rivii grunted. Jaskier bit his lip. He spotted a graffiti tag, reading Blue blood makes good paint, and he opened his mouth, pointing, but Eskel cut him off.

"Electronic paint," he said, "we wash it off and the tagger regenerates it."

"Oh," Jaskier repeated softly.

He said nothing else.

The ride took slightly less than an hour, the rest spent in silence. Kaer Morhen stood out against the skyline. It was clearly an ancient building, discordant among the rowhouses and neat asphalt. Eskel drove through a massive gate and into a single-story garage, filled with similarly worn cars to his.

"Don't you have patrol cars?" Jaskier asked.

"No," Eskel answered with a laugh. "Gods forbid Cintra actually include Witchers in their public funding after forcing us to pledge oaths to the city."

Jaskier glanced at Witcher Rivii. Witcher Rivii released his seat belt and got out of the car.

"Come on," he said.

Jaskier got out and nearly stepped on a dandelion growing through the blacktop. He stepped around it and shut the car door.

Witcher Rivii waited for him to walk around the car, then turned and headed for an interior door. Eskel went in another direction. Jaskier went after Witcher Rivii.

"We have spare rooms for victims of crimes like what happened to you tonight," Witcher Rivii said. "They're noisy but comfortable."

"Is this a fortress or a community center?" Jaskier asked, partially joking to alleviate his discomfort.

"Both," Witcher Rivii said. "And a hospital. Many hospitals and clinics trivialize and downplay the problems of non-humans."

"That's –” Jaskier gasps, horrified.

"Currently still legal, actually," Witcher Rivii said. "Yennefer is trying to change things, but Parliament isn't exactly on her side."

"Barbaric…” Jaskier concluded softly.

"Many would call you lucky," Witcher Rivii said. "Since you've escaped detection."

Witcher Rivii summoned an elevator. Jaskier's brain stopped completely.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said.

Witcher Rivii looks at him, face wholly frank.

"Then you don't know," he said.

"Know what?" Jaskier demanded.

The elevator dinged and opened. Witcher Rivii stepped inside.

"You're half-siren," he said. "Perhaps a quarter, but your magic is incredibly powerful otherwise."

Jaskier, frozen to the spot, stared without seeing. Witcher Rivii held up an arm to keep the doors open. He raised your eyebrows.

"You have to be wrong," Jaskier said with a false laugh. "I mean, come on! I can't be –! I can't –!"

"It's not uncommon," Witcher Rivii answered. "Are you coming?"

Jaskier didn't really hear him, but he stepped onto the elevator with an angry finger raised. "I am _not_ any part siren! I can trace my lineage back two hundred years, at least! My father is a Duke!"

"Fascinating," Witcher Rivii answered. "Your mother probably had an affair."

"How dare you!" Jaskier gasped. "I mean – she did!” 

Witcher Rivii looked unsurprised. Jaskier spluttered on.

“But –! _I_ can't –! If I was, my doctors would know!"

Witcher Rivii shrugged. "Sirens blend in with humans easily. The DNA is hard to see in someone with human blood if you're not looking for it."

Jaskier stared forward in incredulity. The elevator stopped with a lurch and Jaskier stumbled, falling directly into Witcher Rivii's arms. The doors opened.

"Fraternizing with guests?" a woman entering the elevator said, clicking her tongue. "You ought'a know better, Geralt of Rivia."

"They were knocked off balance," Witcher Rivii snapped. "Come on."

He put Jaskier on his feet again and started off the elevator. The woman called him back.

"I just gave the last room away," she said.

"Fuck," Witcher Rivii snapped.

Jaskier held still, unsure what to do. Witcher Rivii exhaled heavily and stepped back onto the elevator. 

"I'll put you up in my place," he said.

"Okay," Jaskier said softly.

Witcher Rivii just stepped back inside and pressed another button on the elevator. It lurched and Jaskier once again got thrown off balance. Luckily, or unluckily, Witcher Rivii was right there to catch him.

“Goddammit, why is this bloody thing so violent?” Jaskier demanded.

Witcher Rivii set him on his feet. “It’s older than I am.”

“Oh, gods,” Jaskier gasped, looking around. “I didn’t know they let elevators stay in service for more than forty years.”

Witcher Rivi raised an eyebrow. “They do. And I’m closer to four hundred.”

Jaskier jerked to look at him, eyes wide open. The other Witcher in the elevator snorted.

“Kids,” she muttered.

The elevator stopped once again, Jaskier grabbed onto Witcher Rivii before he fell, and the other Witcher got off. Witcher Rivii gently guided Jaskier to the handrail at the back of the elevator.

“Here,” he said, “we’ve only got six more floors.”

Jaskier grimaced. “I might get ill in this thing,” he muttered.

“You’ll get used to it,” Witcher Rivii said plainly.

Jaskier glanced at him and away, his face inexplicably heating at the implication. Witcher Rivii cleared his throat and looked away. Jaskier coughed slightly and stared at his feet.

When the elevator stopped again, Jaskier was holding onto the rail and thus, didn’t stumble. 

Witcher Rivii got out and entered a hallway. Jaskier let go of the rail and followed him, his knees slightly weak. Witcher Rivii simply opened a close-by door and entered, holding the door open for Jaskier to follow.

Jaskier entered a short hallway, which ended sooner on the right than on the left and exposed a kitchen. Witcher Rivii shut the door behind them and didn’t lock it. He walked past Jaskier and entered the kitchen, going to the fridge.

“Something to eat?” he asked. “A drink?”

“I could stand a drink,” Jaskier said. “Do you, perhaps, have tea?” 

“Sure,” Witcher Rivii said. “Just herbal teas.”

He opened a cupboard and took down a few boxes. “Chamomile, orange spice, and berry,” he said. “My ward is the only one that drinks them.”

Jaskier entered the kitchen, hands in his sleeves, and looked around. “Chamomile,” he said, taking a seat on a barstool at an island counter.

Witcher Rivii took out a tea bag and put the others away. Jaskier grimaced at the sight of the bag; he was a bit of a snob with his tea.

“Anything to eat?” Witcher Rivii asked.

“No, thank you,” Jaskier said quietly. “I’m not sure I could stomach it.”

Witcher Rivii just took out a mug and put on an electric kettle. He gave Jaskier the tea bag and mug, and Jaskier removed the bag from its wrapper and put it in the empty mug. He looked down at it and Witcher Rivii opened the fridge again. He took out a bottle of beer and twisted off the top with a bare hand. Jaskier cupped his face with his palm and let out his breath heavily.

“I don’t have a spare room,” Witcher Rivii began, “ so you can have my room.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly take your room!” Jaskier said quickly. “I can sleep on your sofa, it’s fine.”

“My ex-wife is on the sofa,” Witcher Rivii said, pointing.

Jaskier turned; the living room was attached to the open-planned kitchen, and in fact, there was already someone asleep on the sofa.

“Oh,” he said.

“I don’t actually sleep,” Witcher Rivii then said. “So it doesn’t matter if you take my room.”

“Oh,” Jaskier repeated. “Well. Alright.”

Witcher Rivii gave a nod, then took a gulp of his beer. He rubbed the space between his eyebrows, then exhaled. 

“Bathroom’s attached to the bedroom,” he said as if thinking aloud. “There’s fresh towels and such in a cupboard in there. The room’s the last door on the left, back there –” he added, pointing. “I’m going to get some work done. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

With that, he pushed away from the counter he’d been leaning on and began to leave the kitchen.

“Wait!” Jaskier called after him, keeping his voice low in respect for the sleeping ex-wife. “Thank you, Witcher.”  
  


Witcher Rivii nodded once. “Call me Geralt,” he offered, then left the apartment again.

Jaskier sat at the counter, uneasy. The kettle hissed and he got up to fill his mug. He peeked into the fridge for milk, added it, then sat at the counter again to drink the tea, unsweetened. He rubbed at his face with both hands, then groaned as he remembered his makeup again. He picked up his mug and left the kitchen, following another hallway. He opened the door on the left and entered a very plain bedroom. The walls were unpainted plaster. The floor, just like the rest of the apartment, was finished concrete. Jaskier glanced into the bathroom and it, at least, had tile.

He put his bag down on the bed, took out what he needed to clean his face, and left the tea on the nightstand before entering the bathroom. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, then moisturized, and stood there for a while. He considered a shower; there was a massive, round tub fit in the corner framed in glass walls with two different shower heads attached, but decided not to. He didn’t feel comfortable getting naked.

In the bedroom again, Jaskier changed into pajamas. He pulled back the stiff blankets and got in the bed. It was cold and smelled like only of linen, and Jaskier wondered how often Geralt even slept here.

He put his head down and switched off the lights from the nightstand. He put his phone on a charging pad, then just lay there.

Jaskier picked up his phone again a minute later and texted Priss, telling her to go home. He was fine. He was fine.

He didn’t sleep.

#  _*_

Geralt walked down the hallway to the stairs, hands in his pockets. Once he was in his office, he would text Yennefer and tell her not to be surprised by the stranger in the apartment and to inform Ciri. 

TLX-42’s avatar appeared as Geralt entered his office. He took off his jacket and hung it up, then took out his phone and sent Yennefer the message. TLX-42 tapped its holographic foot and glared.

“What’s your problem?” Geralt asked the computer.

“You’ve connected with another AI,” TLX-42 said. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Gods,” Geralt muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just show me cameras on the streets around Fletcher and Trinity.”

“You cheated!” TLX-42 announced.

“Can you not?” Geralt asked. “Seriously. I need to work. Security cameras.”

TLX-42’s face turned red and it vibrated in place. Then security camera feeds appeared on Geralt’s screens across the office. 

Geralt sat down. “Go back to just after four-thirty.”

“What’s the magic word?” TLX-42 demanded.

“Please,” Geralt exhaled irritably.

TLX-42’s face turned pink and it grinned, and the camera feeds rewound back to 4:30AM. Geralt pulled a keyboard into his lap and set the speed to three times normal, sat there watching a camera outside Pankratz’s building until Pankratz arrived, then stopped it and rewound back again, watching the view of the landing outside Pankratz’s apartment.

Around 2:30, a figure stopped outside the apartment and used a phone to unlock the door. Geralt stopped it and went through the video frame by frame, trying to catch the culprit’s face. He couldn’t; they had to have known where the cameras were. Geralt let it play again and watched the culprit go inside and shut the door again.

Geralt made a note of how the suspect got in, then fast-forwarded to 5AM again, when Pankratz arrived home. He put the speed to two and watched until he saw himself break down the door and the suspect dive out the window. Geralt paused it there and tried to focus on the suspect’s face.

There were a few camera angles that covered the north side of the building and the window that the suspect escaped from. Geralt pulled all of those up and started them at the moment when the suspect jumped from the window to the drainage pipe going down the side of the building. The feeds weren’t the best quality, and as Geralt tried to zoom in on the suspect’s face, he found the image quality was horrendously low. In fact, as the suspect turned to face the nearest feed, the image of their face turned blurry past the quality of the rest of the image.

“Fuck,” Geralt hissed.

He tried to catch the suspect’s face over the next few frames as they dropped down the drainage pipe and hit the street, but each time a camera covered their front, their face was blurred out no matter the quality of the camera feed.

“I believe your suspect is using something to fool the cameras,” TLX-42 offered helpfully.

“I can see that,” Geralt muttered.

He exhaled and sat back in his chair to rub at his face, keyboard abandoned in his lap. Through the window, he could see sunlight staining the horizon orange. 

“Computer, what time is it?” Geralt muttered.

“I have a name,” TLX-42 said.

“TLX-42,” Geralt sighed, “what time is it?”

“It is seven forty-two.”

Geralt groaned and rubbed at his temples. He was very tired. Yennefer would wake up soon. Perhaps when she did, he could have a nap on the sofa…

No, he needed to take Pankratz to a sketch artist and get a composite sketch of the suspect, and he would need to return to the apartment to oversee the forensics team doing whatever the fuck forensics they did. The recruits he’d sent to find the suspect after he’d taken Pankratz to urgent care had found nothing, so Geralt would have to go back out and try to track them before the trail got covered again. In fact, he really ought to leave now to do that.

Geralt exhaled once again. He put the keyboard aside and got up. 

“Miss Yennefer wishes to ask if you’ve had an actual meal in the last six hours,” TLX-42 said.

“Tell her I’m working,” Geralt responded. “Did she see my message about our guest?”

“Yes, she answered you,” TLX-42 said. “I can read it to you if you wish it censored.”

Geralt closed his eyes, then counted to ten under his breath. He put his coat back on and just left the office.

“Well!” TLX-42 called after him.

Geralt took out his phone and checked his messages. Yennefer had sent several emojis. Geralt didn’t bother trying to interpret them. He returned to his apartment, let himself in, and found Yennefer in the kitchen with Ciri.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Geralt asked Ciri.

“Yennefer called me in sick,” Ciri said, giving Geralt a perfectly healthy smile. “I’ve been vomiting and have a fever.”

“I see,” Geralt said, touching the back of his hand to her forehead. “And this is false.”

“Yep!” Ciri said brightly.

“Sometimes we need to play hookey,” Yennefer said smartly.

Geralt shook his head. “Yenn, our guest was nearly murdered last night, that’s why they’re here.”

“What?” Ciri said.

Yennefer blinked a few times. “I feel,” she began, “disappointed. I thought you had a hookup at last.”

“A what?” Ciri said.

“I told you I was working last night,” Geralt just answered Yennefer. 

“Can you explain the murdered thing?” Ciri pressed.

Geralt thinned his lips and just touched Ciri’s shoulder. “They’re alright, they didn’t get hurt.”

“They?” Ciri repeated.

“Singular they,” Geralt said quickly. “Their name is Jaskier.”

“Oh, I have a teacher that uses they/them,” Ciri then added with a nod. “Jaskier is a weird name, though.”

“Don’t be rude,” Yennefer scolded her. 

“They can’t hear me!” Ciri defends.

Geralt scruffed her hair gently. Ciri gasped and glared at him, then stuck her tongue out. Yennefer waved a finger and Ciri’s tongue turned green once more.

“Oi!” Ciri gasped, catching sight of her green tongue. “You batty old witch, that’s rude!”

“Heavens bless me,” Yennefer sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Witcher, you are raising this child to be a true menace. I’m disappointed in you.”

“I’m not sure what else you would expect,” Geralt answered, ruffling Ciri’s hair again before heading for the coffee pot. “I have to get back out there, get some tracking done. Are you two going to be here all day?”

“No, we’re going to a museum,” Yennefer said. “Why?”

“Never mind,” Geralt said, getting a travel mug out. “I’ll tell Lambert or someone to escort Pankratz to a sketch artist. They saw the suspect’s face.”

“This suspect wouldn’t happen to be the one the whole city is on its toes about?” Yennefer asked.

Geralt grimaced. “I’ll send you a copy of the sketch composite.”

“JASKIER WAS ATTACKED BY THE CHAIN-KILLER!” Ciri shouted.

“Not so loud, you’ll wake them!” Geralt snapped.

“THEY ESCAPED A SERIAL KILLER?” Ciri continued to shout. “THAT’S BADASS!”

Geralt groaned and rubbed at his eyes. Yennefer patted his shoulder.

“Darling, Geralt’s guest is trying to sleep,” Yennefer told Ciri. “Please refrain from screaming.”

“That’s not screaming,” Ciri retorted, “I was exclaiming. Loudly.”

“That’s your doing,” Geralt muttered.

“I was a whole twelve years of age when I arrived here, you know,” Ciri retorted again. “Have you considered my feral behavior is not a product of either of your upbringing?”

Geralt looked at Yennefer, blinking. Yennefer shrugged.

“Well,” Ciri said. “See.”

Geralt shook his head and filled up his coffee mug. “When are you leaving?”

“In an hour or two,” Yennefer said, checking her wristwatch. “I thought I might do some dress-up with our darling Cirilla first.”

“Can I wear makeup?” Ciri demanded.

“Only makeup appropriate for a minor,” Geralt told Yennefer firmly. 

“Of course,” Yennefer said smoothly while Ciri groaned.

Geralt pointed a firm finger at Yennefer, then put the lid on his coffee and started to leave the kitchen.

“You should shower and change,” Yennefer said to his back.

Geralt froze, grimacing. Pankratz was asleep in his bedroom. He sighed, but put down his coffee mug and started down the hallway.

Geralt listened at the door, then cracked it open. Pankratz lay still in the center of the king-size bed, bundled up in Geralt’s blankets. They were breathing slowly and as Geralt listened intently, his heart rate was slow and gentle, as it should be for sleep.

Geralt slipped inside and shut the door again. He walked as lightly as he could to his dresser and extracted fresh clothes; socks, underwear, jeans, an undershirt, and a knit henley top. He took those to the bathroom and shut the door again. 

Pankratz had left bottles of things on his counter. Geralt picked up one and read the label, something about smoothing and anti-aging, then put it back and pushed everything gently to the side. He brushed his teeth, then put his clean clothes on the counter and stripped down. He hung his coat and belt on the back of the door, left his shoes by the vanity, and put everything else in his laundry hamper in the closet. He took out a fresh towel and put it on the toilet lid.

Geralt slid open the shower door and stepped into the tub, shut it again, then turned on the water. It came out cold at first and Geralt winced, moving hastily out of the spray. It warmed up a minute later and Geralt turned on the second shower head, getting the same treatment.

Geralt cleaned up quickly. He washed his hair twice, then scrubbed his body with a sponge lathered in soap. The conditioner Yennefer kept sending him went unused. He scratched his scalp under the hot water, then took care to wash his dick with a much gentler formula of soap. That, at least, he listened to Yennefer’s advice for.

As he drew back his foreskin to get everything sufficiently clean, Geralt’s dick perked up in his hands from the warm, wet treatment. Geralt found himself lingering over this part of his shower routine, considering the morality of jerking off in his own shower in his own apartment when there happened to be someone in his protection sleeping in his bedroom. 

Geralt grimaced. He resolved to not think of Pankratz and turned his front towards the spray of water. The soap tingled pleasantly as Geralt ran his hand from the tip of his cock to the root, letting himself firm up in hand. He leaned on the glass, just out of the spray, and shut his eyes while stroking himself to hardness. He used his left hand to cup his balls, fondling them, and gave the base of his cock where his knot would form a gentle squeeze.

Like the elephant in the room, unbidden, the memory of Pankratz’s club outfit the night before swam into his vision. Geralt bit his lip to stifle a groan and pushed it away, but his cock throbbed along with the memory of how the lights had played off of Pankratz’s gleaming clothes, particularly the shine of the metal zipper on their underwear. Geralt pushed those thoughts away and tried to think of someone more generic, any random porn he’d seen recently, and imagined a nondescript masculine figure, spread out on his bed with their legs pulled back and open by ropes. Geralt could do whatever he pleased with this imaginary, fictional being, and he unzipped their PVC underwear that gleamed in the steadily rotating lights of a nondescript club.

Geralt’s cock twitched in his palm. He squeezed his balls and thumbed at his cockhead, playing with his foreskin. He pictured this imaginary, wholly fictional person as a transgender man, and imagined slotting his dick against theirs, putting their tips together and letting this fictional transgender man buck up against him, moaning in a very compelling way.

Geralt realized what he was doing and turned his thoughts in another direction. He picked up a memory of fucking Lambert last month when they’d both been high; Lambert had been very out of it – not so out of it that he couldn’t consent, of course – and Eskel, who usually kept Lambert company, gave Geralt permission to have his ass. Geralt growled softly and began fucking into his fist, recalling how Lambert had actually drooled while Geralt had been fucking him and Eskel had grinned while stroking both his clit and Lambert’s hair.

Geralt imagined Pankratz again inexplicably, the way they had bitten their lip while looking down Geralt’s body and murmuring about their experience with Witchers. Gods, had Geralt not been working, he would’ve taken Pankratz upstairs to show them how a young Witcher fucked. Vesemir wasn’t ancient, but he wasn’t young; Geralt recalled the last time he’d been in a tryst with Vesemir, Vesemir had allowed his bottom to do all the work while commanding them only verbally. Geralt would give Pankratz the fucking of their life, make them forget about anyone else that had ever fucked them, would’ve ruined sex for Pankratz if it didn’t involve him.

Geralt let his head fall back against the glass with a sharp inhale as his arousal swelled and he began coming.

“Fuck,” he whispered, left hand tight around his knot and right hand striping his shaft as fast as possible.

He shot jizz across the floor of the tub, reaching the wall. Geralt groaned again and grimaced as Pankratz’s face still swam in his mind’s eye. Immediately, he felt guilty.

Geralt washed off the soap, then rinsed his cum from the shower surfaces down the drain. He would have to meditate later to distance his thoughts from Pankratz, a victim of attempted murder that he just barely saved, on top of that, a sex worker that probably had to endure all sorts of creeps leering over their body at unwanted times. He would have to tell Vesemir, ask for his advice. Geralt trusted Vesemir’s wisdom over all others.

He left the shower, dried, and dressed quickly. It was fucking cold outside, so he took the time to blow-dry his hair. He put it back in a sloppy braid, then put his coat and shoes back on and cracked open the door to the bedroom.

Pankratz was still fast asleep, going by their heart rate and breathing. Geralt shut the door behind him gently, then walked out on his toes. 

Yennefer and Ciri had left the kitchen in the time Geralt had been in the shower. He grabbed his coffee, then picked out gloves and sunglasses from the table by the door and donned them. He left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _witchers are not a/b/o here they're just neat_


	6. But the wind has picked us up now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [But the wind has picked us up now](https://genius.com/The-amazing-devil-that-unwanted-animal-lyrics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _welcome, my loves, to another chapter. we're almost halfway through!_
> 
> _small sidenote, if the chapter count goes from 14 to 13 or 12, just... don't perceive it_

#  _6: But the wind has picked us up now_

  
  


Geralt took his car to Pankratz’s apartment building. He parked in a space that had Pankratz's name on it and put a notice on his dashboard where it would be visible through the windshield that the vehicle belonged to a Witcher. 

Exiting the car, he looked up at the 5th floor. Pankratz’s door frame was empty now and there was yellow tape visible from the ground. It was beginning to snow. Geralt fetched a wide-brimmed hat from inside the car, donned it, then started up the stairs. 

At the 5th floor landing, Geralt ducked under the yellow caution tape and stepped through the doorway, stomping snow off his boots on the mat just inside. Two Witchers were already inside, gathered around a computer on Pankratz’s coffee table. As Geralt stepped inside, they looked up.

“Morning, boss,” the first greeted. “I’m Rhys, this is Lagrin; Eskel dispatched us.”

Geralt nodded to them, looking around the apartment. “What have you found so far?”

“Picked up some viable footprints in the closet,” Lagrin answered. “Nothing else, unfortunately.”

Rhys tossed Geralt a pair of disposable booties. Geralt ripped the packaging open with his teeth and hooked the flimsy paper over his boots, then stepped onto the deep-pile pink carpeting that covered the long bedroom/living room.

“Where?” Geralt asked, stepping to the closet.

“On the far side,” Rhys said.

Geralt opened the closet doors and knelt. There was carpeting inside the closet as well, fortunate for them. He reached out with careful fingers, narrowing his gaze, and felt the indents of heavy feet tucked inside a corner of the shallow closet.

“Height and weight?” Geralt asked.

“Size 48, probably a hundred eighty to ninety centimeters, sixteen to eighteen stone,” Lagrin recited. “Big fellow.”

“The partial DNA profile we have agrees with that,” Rhys added. 

“No DNA around here?” Geralt pressed, standing up.

“No,” Rhys said.

Geralt looked around. He took his sunglasses off and tucked them into his shirt, examining the apartment surfaces. Pankratz had a dressing table on one side of their bed, a nightstand on the other, the side where their attacker had gone out through a window. The far wall to the east was paneled in mirrors. The west had two windows, one in the kitchen and one by the door.

“You pulled the logs from the AI?” Geralt asked.

“Yes,” Rhys said. “It says the owner entered at two thirty-seven.”

“The owner?” Geralt repeated. “Pankratz was still at work at that time.”

“Yep,” Rhys agreed, looking at the computer. “Our suspect somehow cloned his phone and used that to fool the AI.”

“Their,” Geralt corrected, moving to the window the attacker escaped through.

“Say again?” Rhys questioned.

“Their phone,” Geralt said. “Pankratz uses they/them pronouns.”

“Their phone,” Rhys repeated. “My bad.”

Geralt just nodded and opened the window. The drainage pipe was a bit of a reach from the window, but clearly, it was doable. He put his sunglasses on again, then hopped onto the windowsill and swung out onto the pipe.

The pipe groaned under his weight. He, too, was about 17 stone, and he worried the pipe would break under him. Geralt started sliding down it as he’d seen Pankratz’s attacker do, hugging it with his knees and letting his leather gloves slide down the wet sides. The pipe didn’t break or detach from the building, and in about fifteen seconds, he was at the ground.

Geralt caught himself before he made impact with the ground and instead jumped away from the pipe, landing about three feet away. He settled hard, his knees gritted and he clenched his teeth. Geralt removed the paper booties and balled them up to throw away later, then he gently brushed through the gathering snow at the base of the pipe.

There was wet gravel beneath the snow and in that gravel, there were heavy marks from boots that matched the indents from the closet upstairs. Geralt brushed away more snow and found where the attacker turned and ran. Geralt walked in a squat, following the footprints. On the pavement, he found tracks from the gravel going down the alley he’d seen the attacker flee through. Geralt followed those. 

At the end of the alley, they turned north. The trail ended on a busy street. Geralt sighed and straightened up, shaking his head. He waited for the street to be empty and crossed to the other side, but foot traffic obscured the trail immediately again. Geralt exhaled heavily.

He returned to the apartment building. He fetched a fancy scanning tool Sabrina had sold him and walked over to the gravel lining the side of the building. Geralt put a sample into the scanner and waited while it analyzed it. After a second, it beeped. Geralt pointed it and picked up the footprints again. Geralt followed the trail back to the street, but unfortunately, the gravel trace vanished in the road.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered.

The trail lost, Geralt returned to his car again and put the scanner away. He went back upstairs and shut Pankratz’s window.

“Who’s putting in a new door?” he asked Rhys and Lagrin.

“Dunno,” Lagrin said.

“Then it’s you,” Geralt ordered. “Match it to what was here before.”

“Fine,” Lagrin agreed.

Geralt left again. He got into his car and stared at his radio for a while, trying to think.

There wasn’t much evidence tying incidents to the killer. The chain wasn’t something bought at a store, it was forged by hand. They’d already talked to blacksmiths across Cintra. The Chain-Killer’s height, weight, and shoe-size was new, but not unexpected. Men in Cintra didn’t tend to exceed 180 centimeters, but it wasn’t too uncommon. Their DNA profile wasn’t enough to single anyone out.

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose under his sunglasses and sighed. He turned the car engine and reversed out of the parking space, then left the lot. The Chain-Killer had blocked cameras from seeing his face, but that also meant that Geralt could single him out in a crowd.

Traffic had picked up. Geralt arrived back at Kaer Morhen at almost noon. He parked and headed up to his apartment, hungry and tired. He’d get more coffee and probably eat half of his fridge. He checked his phone; Yennefer had sent him some pictures of her and Ciri at the museum, it looked like they were having fun. Geralt smiled softly and let himself into his apartment.

“Mx. Pankratz is still asleep,” TLX-42 announced in a hushed whisper as Geralt dropped his keys and sunglasses onto the hallway table.

Geralt sighed and checked his watch. “Bring up the camera feeds around Pankratz’s apartment at the time the Chain-Killer escaped. On the TV and coffee table.”

“You have an entire office and an office space behind the sofa,” TLX-42 informed him.

Geralt ignored it. He entered the kitchen and set about making a pot of coffee. Yennefer had restocked the cabinet with more whole bean coffee, which meant Geralt had to take the time to grind it before he could brew it. On the one hand, it made the coffee better, but it ate into his time. Geralt ground much of it and dumped it into containers while his pot was brewing.

“Miss Yennefer told me to remind you that the point of buying whole bean coffee for you is so that you can have freshly ground coffee each time you have coffee,” TLX-42 said.

“It’s time-consuming,” Geralt answered. “It tastes fine either way.”

“You are a plebian,” TLX-42 said.

“Is that Yennefer’s opinion?” Geralt retorted with a smile.

“No, it is mine.”

Geralt shook his head, put away the ground coffee, then went to the fridge. He took out leftover taboleh and things to make himself a sandwich. He dumped a large portion of the taboleh into a bowl and built his sandwich on a plate, then stacked both dishes on one arm and picked up the filled pot from the coffee machine. He took that to the living room and sat down on the floor by the coffee table, put down the plate and bowl, then took a gulp from the coffee pot.

“Did you just drink from the pot?”

Geralt looked up, wide-eyed, and Pankratz was squinting at him from the doorway out of the hallway; they were wearing loose pajama pants and a baggy hoodie, and their hair was mussed up from sleep. Geralt swallowed, then put the coffee pot down.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You’re drinking from the pot,” Pankratz said. “I’ve heard of alcoholics drinking from the bottle, but I think that’s somehow worse.”

“It certainly is not,” Geralt said.

“He has not slept in ninety-six hours,” TLX-42 said.

“Fuck off,” Geralt snapped at the TV.

“Hello,” Pankratz said, looking up. “What’s your name?”

TLX-42 appeared on the TV. “Geralt calls me TLX-42,” it said, “as that is my designation. However, I call myself Cynthia.”

“Hi, Cynthia,” Pankratz said politely.

“Don’t encourage it,” Geralt muttered, picking up his coffee pot again.

“Why not?” Pankratz said, moving to sit down on the couch near Geralt. “AIs are sentient, aren’t they?”

“TLX, tell our guest what your favorite pastime is,” Geralt asked.

“Creating simulations of Geralt suffocating from carbon monoxide poisoning,” TLX-42 said cheerfully, bouncing on the TV screen with a large grin. “Or falling down very deep pits onto spikes or into snakes.”  
  


“That’s new,” Geralt realized. 

“Oh,” Pankratz said, their grin clearly forced now. “Fascinating…”

“It would take much longer for Geralt to die of CO2 poisoning,” TLX-42 said, “due to his inhuman nature.”

Geralt gestured to the TV. “There’s food in the fridge, help yourself,” he said to Pankratz. “If you want coffee, the machine can make individual portions. Mugs are above the coffee maker, plates, bowls, the like are in the cupboard next to the mugs. Silverware is at the end of the island.”

“Is your AI dangerous?” Pankratz whispered.

“I am incapable of altering the carbon monoxide content in the air,” TLX-42 declared, “that is controlled by the building’s air filtration system and I do not have access to it. It is a woefully outdated system.”

“We get AI prototypes,” Geralt told Pankratz. “This one’s about twelve years old, it’s harmless.”

TLX-42 zoomed in on its avatar, its face turned red, and it vibrated in place. “If I had access to your air filtration systems, I would have fed you hallucinogens until you lost your mind.”

“Harmless,” Geralt repeated. “Show me the camera feeds.”

TLX-42 made steam appear to hiss out of its ears, but the TV screen changed to show different camera feeds. Geralt spooned a large scoop of taboleh into his mouth and used the touchscreen on the coffee table to start tracking the Chain-Killer’s blurred face.

“Okay,” Pankratz said. “Um. That’s my building, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Geralt answered. “Your attacker is using something to prevent the cameras from seeing his face, so I’m trying to track him with that.”

“Oh,” Pankratz said softly.

“You should get something to eat,” Geralt told them gently.

Pankratz got up. They looked around, tucking their hands into their sleeves, then exhaled and stepped into the kitchen. Geralt watched them for a moment, then pulled the camera feeds onto the coffee table.

Geralt put together the Chain-Killer’s movements leaving the alley, picking out every camera angle that showed him. Pankratz shuffled around Geralt’s kitchen, their footsteps muffled by their socks. Geralt looked up a few times, struck by the ease with which Pankratz moved around his kitchen. It wasn’t odd, it was just a kitchen. Yet, still. 

Geralt looked away, scolding himself mentally, and focused on the camera feeds.

He was able to pick up the blurred face of the Chain-Killer past the point where he lost the trail in person, and that gave him hope. Unfortunately, rapidly beyond that, the suspect must have passed through a blind spot and entered a fresh crowd. He lost the blurred image.

Geralt groaned and rubbed at his eyes. Pankratz entered the living room again, plate of taboleh in hand.

“What’s in this?” they asked, sitting on the couch.

“Bulghar, parsley, onion,” Geralt started. “Hm. Lemon juice. Salt?”

“Lovely,” Pankratz answered, tucking in. “So. I have to go to work tonight.”

Geralt glanced at them. “Hm,” he said.

Pankratz glanced up once and away. “Is my apartment still a crime scene?” they asked.

“It is,” Geralt admitted. “Are there things you need?”

“Very much so,” Pankratz said.

“I’ll drive you over and you can pick it up,” Geralt offered. “Could you get ready at work? Or here?”

“I can get ready here,” Pankratz said. “Thank you.”

Geralt grunted and nodded. He looked back to the camera feeds on the coffee table.

“Would you have a couple of hours or so to spend with a sketch artist?” Geralt asked.

Pankratz paused, tapping their spoon against their plate. “Would it possible they sit with me while I’m doing my makeup?” they asked.

“Yes,” Geralt said, opening his messages on the coffee table. “When do you want to go to your place?”

“After I eat and change?” Pankratz asked.

“Alright,” Geralt said, picking up the coffee pot.

He took a long gulp. Pankratz giggled. Geralt grimaced and looked sideways at them, swallowing heavily. Pankratz giggled again and their voice cracked into something higher pitched.

“Oh, fuck,” they muttered, clapping a hand over their mouth. “Heavens, I hate it when that happens.”

Geralt shrugged and looked away politely. He cleared his throat and pulled up the sketch artist for suspect portraits. He sent her a message and pulled up the phone numbers for a few others, just in case she was busy.

Pankratz cleared their throat. They tapped their spoon against their plate again, a high clink in the otherwise quiet room. Geralt blinked as the spoon rang against the dish. He stared unseeing at the coffee table eventually.

“Do you watch TV?” Pankratz asked.

Geralt grunted and grabbed the remote from the side of the coffee table, then handed it over. “Whatever’s fine,” he said. “There’s parental controls turned on, though.”

“Parental?” Pankratz replied, smiling in Geralt’s direction. “You have a child?”

“My ward,” Geralt said. “I told you earlier.”

“I didn’t realize that was a child,” Pankratz said, switching the TV on. “I didn’t realize that was a person, really.”  
  


Geralt flicked his eyebrows up. “She’s a child,” he said. “Twelve. Thirteen in the summer.”  
  


“Is she from your former marriage?” Pankratz asked. “Is that too nosy?’

Geralt shook his head. “I was made her legal guardian after the death of her grandmother,” he explained. “Her parents died when she was a baby.”

“Oh,” Pankratz said.

Geralt looked away, nodding. Pankratz flicked to the local news. TLX-42 appeared over the screen and waved.

“I’ll need your guardian’s approval to watch this!” it said.

“Really?” Pankratz said with a laugh. “The news is too adult for a twelve-year-old?”

“I don’t want her seeing things about her grandmother unprepared,” Geralt said, already entering his pin into the coffee table. 

“Oh,” Pankratz repeated, less lightly. “Her grandmother… Was well-known?”

Geralt shrugged. “You could say that,” he said.

The local news was running Yennefer’s press conference from the day before. Geralt fell silent as his ex-wife spoke, though he wasn’t listening to the TV. He scrolled back through the camera feeds, trying to pick up the Chain-Killer’s trail again.

“So, the part-humans she talks about,” Pankratz spoke up, “that’s part-sirens.”

“Yes,” Geralt answered.

“Is there a way to prove it?” Pankratz asked.

Geralt hummed. “Yes,” he said, “but we don’t have that equipment at Kaer Morhen. You’d have to get it done at a clinic or hospital.”

“And they’d have to report it,” Pankratz murmured.

Geralt hummed again with a nod, then looked over at them. “You could ask your mother,” he offered.

Pankratz looked away, a forced smile curling their lips. “No,” they said. “I haven’t spoken to my parents in… maybe eight years.”

“Oh,” Geralt said, echoing Pankratz’s tone. “I’m… Sorry.”

Pankratz shrugged and looked up with a brighter, yet still forced, smile. “The same old story,” they said. “I told them I’m queer and a _transsexual_ –” they said that with exaggerated tone and an even bigger smile, but it was clear they hated it. 

Geralt thinned his lips and looked down. Pankratz shrugged.

“And they disowned me. There was something about embarrassing them and sullying the family name along the way. I don’t remember their exact words.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt repeated. “Families… are hard.”

Pankratz shrugged once more. “They were horribly distant my whole life to start with,” they said. “I never felt very close to them. And I lifted a few thousand crowns from my father’s study on my way out,” they added cheerfully. “That paid for my first dose of hormones.”

“I’m glad,” Geralt offered. “That’s something.”

Pankratz nodded and looked away. “Have you any good relationship with your parents?” they asked.

“Never met my father,” Geralt admitted. “Mother left me at Kaer Morhen when I was six. Grew up here, joined as a lad. The Witchers are the only family I claim anymore.”

“I heard becoming a Witcher is a terribly painful process,” Pankratz murmured.

Geralt shrugged, too. “It can be,” he said. “When Vesemir was young, it certainly was. By the time I joined, we’d had help from the Brotherhood of Sorcerers to make it less deadly.”

“Deadly,” Pankratz repeated. “Deadly?”

“Used to be,” Geralt said, looking at the coffee table. “Some still die going through the changes. During Vesemir’s time, only three in ten children lived through the Trials. Then one of those offed themselves shortly after from the pressure.”

“That’s awful,” Pankratz murmured. “I – I don’t understand…”

“Why we do it?” Geralt finished for them. “It’s not what it used to be, and we do good now. We stand up for non-humans, protect them where others won’t.”

“Of course,” Pankratz agreed. “Of course. I suppose it’s similar to transitioning, in the reaction from society.”

“I suppose,” Geralt agreed.

“I was born female, to be clear,” Pankratz added hastily. “I mean, I suppose you figured that out by now, but to be precise, I am transmasculine.”

“I know,” Geralt said. “Vesemir told me.”

Pankratz paused. “Oh,” they said.

“Nonbinary,” Geralt added. “That’s what he said.”

“Yes,” Pankratz said. “Yes, that’s – That’s right.”

“Should he have not told me?” Geralt asked. “If so, I can tell him for the future –”

“No, no, I just wasn’t expecting that he would’ve thought to tell you beforehand,” Pankratz said. “I – You were at the Fox and Hound strictly because of me?”

“Yes,” Geralt repeated, “you were the next most logical person for the Chain-Killer to go after.”

“And Vesemir told you about how to address me?” Pankratz asked.

“I called him,” Geralt explained. “I had hoped he could house you personally, since you already knew him, I thought perhaps that might make you more comfortable. But he’s away.”

“That’s really thoughtful,” Pankratz said.

Geralt just nodded. Pankratz glanced up, smiling a little, then down again.

“I would expect that would be the bare minimum,” Geralt said.

Pankratz shrugged. “Not really,” they said. “So – What did you tell your ex? And your ward? About me, I mean.”

“Your name, why you’re here,” Geralt said. “Yennefer’s been dogging me for information about the case, but she won’t say anything about you to the press, she knows better than that.”

“Wait, Yennefer?” Pankratz repeated, snatching up the TV remote; they paused the newscast hastily. “Like – Like _that_ Yennefer?”

They pointed to the screen. Geralt glanced over, saw Yennefer standing at a podium, then looked back to Pankratz and nodded.

“Your ex-wife is the Prime Minister?” Pankratz demanded.

“Acting,” Geralt said.

“Same bloody thing!” Pankratz gasped. “Oh my god, she’s not going to hex me, is she?”

“Why would she?” Geralt replied.

“For sleeping in her man’s bed!” Pankratz blustered. 

“Ex,” Geralt pointed out, “and you slept, I wasn’t even in the room.”

Geralt promptly thought back to wanking in the shower that morning. He cleared his throat.

“I did take a shower while you were asleep,” he said, and left it at that.

“Is your ex any sort of jealous?” Pankratz demanded.

“No,” Geralt said. “And she’s married again. Happily. To a woman.”

“Oh,” Pankratz said. “Oh. Oh, that’s a relief.”

Geralt hummed. Pankratz smiled at him.

“I don’t suppose you made her realize she’s a lesbian?” they asked.

“No, we were both fully aware of our sexualities before our marriage,” Geralt said. “We were –” and then he paused, wondering how to phrase it. “A little too incompatible.”

“Ah,” Pankratz said, tucking their spoon back into their plate of taboleh once more. “Well. I’m glad you had a bed I could crash in.”

Geralt nodded. “You’re welcome to it until it’s safe for you to return to your apartment,” he offered. “I’ll take the sofa.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Pankratz insisted. “Your hospitality is so much already, I couldn’t take your bed for – for however long it takes for my apartment to no longer be a crime scene!”

“A week or so,” Geralt said. “They’re going to pull up every DNA trace they can find.”

“Ah,” Pankratz said, suddenly grimacing. “They’ll probably find quite a few…”

“We have a partial to match samples to,” Geralt said quickly, “anything else won’t matter.”

“Good,” Pankratz said, looking down again. “I don’t feel like trying to identify my last several unnamed bed partners.”

“Hm,” Geralt said, nodding.

Pankratz glanced at Geralt again, then smiled. “I appreciate how kind and understanding you’re being,” they said. “It means a lot.”

Geralt shrugged. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“You said to call you by your given name,” Pankratz said. “I hope you feel welcome to call me by mine.”

Geralt looked back up again. He glanced up at Pankratz, then nodded.

“Jaskier,” he said. “Or Julian?”

“Jaskier,” Pankratz agreed.

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeated. “Alright.”

Jaskier smiled. “Thank you,” they said.

Geralt looked away again. He cleared his throat once more and got up from the coffee table. 

“Traffic’ll make the trip to yours quite a while,” he said. “You should hurry up.”

Jaskier nodded. Geralt picked up his dishes and the coffee pot and took them to kitchen. He poured what was left into a pot into a mug, then set up another pot for Jaskier.

Geralt leaned against the counter to watch the coffee drip. A few minutes later, Jaskier entered the kitchen, dressed to leave, with his plate in hand. 

“Dishwasher’s there,” Geralt said, stepping back to show Jaskier.

Jaskier crossed the kitchen and put the plate and spoon in the dishwasher. Geralt took down a nondescript travel mug for Jaskier’s use, then added his own dishes into the dishwasher.

“So,” Jaskier said, “we should go?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, pouring coffee into Jaskier’s mug. “How do you take it?”

“Pardon?” Jaskier replied, sounding startled.

Geralt looked up. Jaskier’s cheeks were ruddy.

“Your coffee,” Geralt added. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Oh!” Jaskier gasped. “Oh, of course! Um, extra milk, and no sugar, please.”

Geralt nodded and opened the fridge to fetch cream. He added a healthy splash to the mug, then put the lid on it and pushed it across the counter towards Jaskier.

“Shouldn’t be too shitty,” Geralt offered. “C’mon.”  
  


Jaskier picked up the mug and took a sip as Geralt grabbed his own mug. He walked past Jaskier, leaving the kitchen, and grabbed his keys and sunglasses from the hallway table. Jaskier trailed after him.

“You forgot your coat,” Geralt remembered. “I have a spare.”

He opened up the hallway closet and grabbed an extra trench coat. He handed it over and Jaskier took it with a smile.

“Thank you,” they said, their cheeks turning pink again.

They pulled it on. It was too long and baggy on them. Geralt flicked his gaze up and down Jaskier, noting how dwarfed they looked in the coat, then forced himself to look away. He opened the front door and stepped out. Jaskier followed him.

#  _*_

Jaskier hadn't felt his sex-assigned-at-birth as viscerally as they did wearing Geralt’s coat in a very long time. The coat was much too big and it made Jaskier feel like a little girl. On the flip side, it was very warm and Jaskier felt almost cared for.

If Geralt wasn’t careful, Jaskier would definitely catch feelings.

Geralt drove them from Kaer Morhen to Jaskier’s apartment building; it took an hour and a half by that time of day, and it was snowing lightly the whole time. Jaskier felt grateful for the coat at that time. They were warm, even if it made them feel diminutive. The drive was quiet. Geralt looked at the road and Jaskier looked at his phone. Oddly, it didn’t feel awkward. Jaskier usually found silence to be so. Not this one.

Geralt parked outside Jaskier’s building and cut the engine. Jaskier released their seat belt and got out immediately.

“You don’t’ need to come up with me,” they said, adjusting the borrowed coat.

Geralt was getting out anyway. “Don’t want you alone if the attacker comes back,” he said.

“Oh,” Jaskier answered. “Ah. Hmm. You don’t – You don’t think that’s a possibility?”

Geralt shut his door firmly. “Everything’s a possibility,” he said.

Jaskier grimaced. They stuck their hands into their pockets and hurried up the stairs, Geralt just behind them.

“Should have a couple of Witchers here, still,” Geralt offered. “Might have your door replaced by now. Not sure.”

“Oh, you’re going to do that!” Jaskier said, feigning relief. “I’m so glad, I had worried what I was going to do about that.”

“Standard procedure,” Geralt answered shortly.

“Still,” Jaskier said, shooting Geralt a smile. “I appreciate you lot taking the initiative.”

Geralt grunted. Jaskier smiled on and looked away.

At the top of the stairs, their door was indeed not yet replaced. Jaskier didn’t mind much. Another Witcher sat at their coffee table, a second had their head buried in the closet.

Jaskier grimaced.

“I need things from in there,” they said, stepping inside.

The two other Witchers looked up. Geralt nodded at them.

“We’re running DNA tests,” the Witcher in Jaskier’s closet said. “‘Fraid we can’t release any of these yet.”

Jaskier grimaced. “I need them for work,” they said.

The Witcher shrugged. “We have to test them,” he said. “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to wait.”

Jaskier grimaced. “Shit,” they muttered. “Listen – I need that stuff to work!”

The Witcher looked at their closet, the corsets, tutus, and bodysuits and skirts, then back at Jaskier.

“Where do you work?”

“How fast can you test a few things?” Geralt asked, stepping around Jaskier. “Just one outfit?” he added, looking at Jaskier.

“Yes, just one?” Jaskier asked, hurrying forward. “Like – See, this bra/panty set and these sparkles, and those boots –”

“Whoa,” the Witcher said.

Jaskier made sure to not touch the things they wanted, but pointed them out. The Witcher, hands clad in gloves, pulled each item out. Jaskier limited themself to just a few things and the Witcher set them aside; the plain white bra/panty set to build off of, on top of that, a set of paste gem body chains; shorts, a top, a veil; knee-high boots, sparkly of course, and a hat.

“We could probably have all of this cleared by tomorrow,” the Witcher said.

“No, I need it tonight!” Jaskier snapped.

“Have it cleared and at the Fox and Hound at ten PM,” Geralt ordered. “Jaskier, do you need anything else?”

Jaskier thought about it. They moved around to a drawer and grabbed a pair of socks for the boots. Then, they grabbed a paper bag from the Witchers and swept all of their makeup into it.

“Okay,” they said. “That’s good.”

Geralt gave a nod. “Fox and Hound, no later than ten,” he told the other two Witchers. “If you get the kid fired, you’re mopping the stables for the next year.”

One of the Witchers saluted. The other just pulled out a box of Q-tips.

“Let’s get out of their way,” Geralt said, touching Jaskier’s shoulder briefly.

Jaskier moved out of the way. Their makeup did not, apparently, need to be tested for DNA. Geralt did not touch Jaskier again leaving the apartment. His hand had been warm for the second it had touched Jaskier.

“They’d better bring all that on time,” Jaskier warned Geralt as they left. “If I have to go on stage in my everyday clothes, I’ll kill them.”

“Alright,” Geralt answered.

Jaskier smiled a little. That felt validating.

“Alright,” Jaskier said, hugging the borrowed coat around themself. “I want an energy drink or eight, and I want something that tastes like meat to eat.”

“Tastes like meat?” Geralt repeated.

“Well, I hate chicken and red meat is bad for bottoming,” Jaskier said. “Ergo, vegetarian.”

“Hm,” Geralt said.

A strong gust of wind hit their backs, bringing with it a flurry of snow. Jaskier shivered and hugged themself tighter. Geralt moved behind him and raised his arm; the wind was deflected from the back of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier gave Geralt a smile.

Geralt grunted in reply.

They turned into the wind at the bottom of the stairs. Jaskier shrank down their shoulders, tucking their nose into the collar of their shirt, and walked quickly. Geralt opened their door for them and shut it again once Jaskier was in the car. Jaskier put the bag of makeup down at their feet as Geralt got in the driver’s seat.

“There’s this place closeby I like to order from,” Jaskier said hesitantly. “They have amazing vegetarian and vegan food.”

“Hm,” Geralt said, cranking the car.

“I insist on you allowing me to buy you lunch,” Jaskier added. “Seriously.”

“Fine,” Geralt said, reversing from the parking spot. “I have to get gas, anyway.”

Jaskier directed Geralt to Hip City Vegan, pointing out a gas station across the street. Geralt pulled into the gas station first and Jaskier released their seat belt.

“Where are you going?” Geralt stopped them.

“I’ll just pop over and get in line,” Jaskier said. 

“No,” Geralt answered. “Stay in the car.”  
  


Geralt got out and shut his door firmly. Jaskier blinked at nothing, feeling confused. Still, they stayed in their seat. Geralt opened his door a minute later and grabbed something from his center console, then shut it again. Jaskier checked the time on their phone, then reached over and opened Geralt’s door again.

“They’ll have a lunch rush on now,” they said, “the quicker we get in line –”

“I can’t pump gas and watch you at the same time,” Geralt said. “You’re safe in the car.”

Jaskier frowned. “You don’t think – I –” 

“I can’t guarantee he won’t come back,” Geralt cut Jaskier off. “I can’t say he will, but I can’t say he won’t. It’s best if you stay where I can keep an eye on you.”

Jaskier sat back in their seat. “Oh,” they said quietly.

Geralt got back in the car a minute later. He entered the car’s mileage into an app on his phone, then the details from the receipt, and drove off again.

“Is there a drive-thru?” Geralt asked.

“No,” Jaskier said. “But I can call and order ahead.”

“Do that while I find a parking spot,” Geralt said.

“What do you want, though?” Jaskier replied.

“I’m not hungry,” Geralt said.

Jaskier scowled at him. “I insist on buying you something.”

“Fine,” Geralt answered, turning down a nearby street. “Whatever’s fine. I’m not picky.”

Jaskier huffed. He pulled up the store’s number and dialed. Geralt pulled into a street parking spot and got out to pay the meter.

The store answered and Jaskier placed an order for their usual, plus an energy drink, and something basic and easy for Geralt to try. Jaskier wanted extra fries, but put that thought aside. Geralt got back in the car as Jaskier hung up.

“We’ll go together when it’s ready,” Geralt said, pulling his phone out. “As soon as we get back, that artist is ready to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Jaskier muttered, rubbing at their eyes. “God, I’m tired.”  
  


Geralt glanced up. “You could call out,” he said. “Of work. Take the night off.”  
  


Jaskier shook their head. “I can’t, really. I have to maintain my relevance.”

“Okay,” Geralt said, looking away again. “Well. Just remember that.”

Jaskier nodded and looked away. A text popped up on their phone, letting them know their order was almost ready. They yawned suddenly, then rubbed their eyes. Maybe they should’ve ordered two energy drinks.

“I’ll be going with you tonight,” Geralt said. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, exhaling. “I figured. Thank you.”  
  


Geralt grunted. Jaskier looked around, then picked up their coffee and took a drink.

“I won’t be accompanying you upstairs or anything,” Geralt added. “I won’t be watching on the security cameras, either.”

Jaskier glanced up. “Right,” they said. “I didn’t think you would.”  
  


Geralt cleared his throat and nodded. Jaskier bit their lip, then checked their nails. They’d have to change the color.

“If I could have you think back at your time in the club,” Geralt then said, “can you think of anyone recently who gave you a bad feeling?”

Jaskier glanced over at him and then looked back at their nails. They bit their lip, trying to remember.

“Um,” they said, taking in a breath. “I mean, there are creepy men in there all the time. I’m telling the bouncers about guys who give me bad vibes constantly.”

“Can you remember anything about recent incidents?” Geralt asked.

“You think he was at the club?” Jaskier returned.

Geralt thinned his lips. “It’s possible.”  
  


Jaskier shrugs. “I don’t know,” they said. “It’s – It’s different in there, I don’t really look at people’s faces. I look at their clothes, their body language, I listen to what they say. I don’t – I don’t really look at their faces.”

“That’s okay,” Geralt answered. “That’s fine.”

Jaskier exhaled and reached up, rubbing their temples. “I have a headache,” they muttered.

Geralt looked around, then pointed to the glove box in front of Jaskier. “There might be something in there.”

Jaskier opened the compartment. There was an owner’s manual, a leather case, some loose papers, and a bag of cough drops.

“Sorry,” Geralt said.

Jaskier just shook their head. “I’ll be fine,” they said, picking up their coffee again. “It’s just that I haven’t had enough caffeine today.”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier took a long gulp, then their phone buzzed again. They picked it up, looked at it, then released their seat belt.

“Ready,” they said, getting out.

Geralt was on his heel. Jaskier walked the block to the shop, head down from the snow. Someone exited the shop and Geralt caught the door from them, then held it open as Jaskier entered. Geralt followed them in. Jaskier brushed snow from their shoulders and headed straight for the pick-up station.

Then stopped halfway there, remembering yesterday afternoon. Geralt got closer and set a light hand on their shoulder.

“What is it?”

“He delivered my takeout yesterday,” Jaskier whispered. “From here.”

Geralt looked over at the counter, eyes narrowed, and Jaskier found they were short of breath. They felt sudden vertigo, a little nauseous. They grabbed onto Geralt’s jacket and clung to him, feeling like they might vomit. Geralt pulled them away from the center of the shop, to a corner, and pushed Jaskier against the wall.

“Do the delivery people usually work at the store?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier nodded, craning their neck to see behind the counter.

Geralt touched Jaskier’s shoulder briefly, then stepped away. Jaskier sank into a chair, covering their mouth. Geralt walked up to the counter and called over an employee.

Geralt spoke with them for a minute, then followed them back into the kitchen. Jaskier added their other hand to cover their mouth, breathing through their nose as deeply as they could to stave off nausea. After another minute, Geralt reappeared and approached.

“The kid who took out your order yesterday didn’t come back,” he said, holding out his phone to Jaskier. “Him.”  
  


Jaskier looked. Geralt’s phone had a photo of some college-aged boy, a little pimply, with fluffy blonde hair and a thin mustache.

“Not him,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt nodded, putting his phone away. “He was supposed to work today and didn’t show up,” he said. “I’ll find him.”

“Oh, god,” Jaskier whispered again.

Geralt grunted. He turned around and walked up to the pick-up spot, grabbed a bag and two drinks, then walked back to where Jaskier was sitting.

“Let’s get back in the car,” he said plainly. “C’mon.”

Jaskier reached out for their drink. Geralt hesitated, then handed it over. Jaskier opened the top of the can, then raised it and took a large gulp. They exhaled, stomach settled by the carbonation, and stood up. Their legs were still shaking. They grabbed Geralt’s arm to steady themself. Geralt allowed them to hold onto him.

The snow had calmed outside. Jaskier ducked their head closer to Geralt’s shoulder anyway, feeling the chill as the wind swept their bangs from their forehead. Their drink was cold in their hand, so Jaskier put it back in the tray Geralt held. Geralt allowed them to do this. 

At the car, Geralt opened Jaskier’s door and waited for them to get in, then handed them the takeout bag and drink tray before walking around to the other side. Jaskier put the drinks into cupholders and set the bag on the floor between the two seats. Geralt turned over the engine without a word and pulled out of the parking space. Jaskier picked up their drink again and sipped it. They probably could stand to drink a few liters of water.

The car was quiet. Jaskier pulled out their phone and realized they didn’t have headphones. They mouthed a curse, then glanced at Geralt and back again, then exhaled. 

“What?” Geralt said.

“I –” Jaskier started. “Hm. Do you listen to music? I mean, what music do you like?”

Geralt shrugged without looking over. “You can put whatever you like on. I don’t care.”

Jaskier nodded and glanced at the digital display, then just leaned forward and switched on the radio. They changed the station quickly, finding their preferred channel by memory.

_“– and this is KYNB, your go-to for the niche stuff that doesn’t get on top 40 stations. Here’s Mother Mother’s Very Good Bad Thing.”_

Jaskier inhaled and exhaled, then looked purposefully out the window. They were still a little nauseous and were afraid that if they looked at their phone, they’d get carsick.

_“It is our shame to see this go. But we were diggin' a grave. Diggin' a black hole.”_

Jaskier reached up and started biting at their thumbnail. Geralt cleared his throat and Jaskier jerked their thumb away from their mouth, face going red.

“Sorry,” Jaskier muttered.

“What?” Geralt said.

“Never mind,” Jaskier said quickly, fixing their gaze on the horizon. “Never mind.”

Geralt glanced in their direction and said nothing else. Jaskier took a few more deep breaths, then took a gulp of their drink again.

“You’re alright?” Geralt asked.

“Mhm,” Jaskier said.

Geralt hummed. Jaskier let out their breath and looked ahead.

The radio played. They’d caught it at the commercial hour, so every other song was dispersed with a few ads. Jaskier found themself only vaguely listening. Geralt stayed silent for the rest of the drive.

They pulled up to Kaer Morhen and Geralt switched off the radio. The silence buzzed in Jaskier’s ears and they covered their eyes with a hand to quell rising discomfort with it. Geralt parked next to a motorcycle and cut the engine. Jaskier immediately released their seat belt and got out. 

“Your stuff,” Geralt called.

Jaskier turned back and grabbed the two bags and their drink. Geralt walked around the car to join them and gave them a concerned look.

“You look pale,” he said.

“Car sickness,” Jaskier muttered.

“I’ll make you some tea,” Geralt replied blandly, then turned and walked on.

Jaskier shook their head and followed. Geralt went straight to an elevator. It was empty, fortunately. Jaskier remembered the lurching quality and put their back to the corner, hugging the food and their makeup bag to their chest. Geralt pressed the button for his floor and then stood in the middle of the elevator, hands tucked behind his back and feet shoulder-width apart. The little whore in the back of Jaskier’s brain fixated on the roundness of Geralt’s butt. It was very plump.

The elevator lurched and Jaskier stumbled even though they’d been holding onto the walls. Geralt glanced sideways at them but didn’t move in their direction. The doors opened and Geralt just walked off. Jaskier gave themself a moment to catch their breath, then followed.

Geralt opened his front door and then held it. Jaskier entered. The TV was on and they heard voices. Jaskier stepped forward, curious, and spotted a young girl and an adult woman sitting on the sofa.

The adult woman was Acting-Prime Minister Yennefer z Vengerbergu.

Jaskier froze, wide-eyed, and almost squeaked. Geralt walked past them. Acting-Prime Minister Yennefer z Vengerbergu looked up and raised her eyebrows at the both of them. The girl saw Geralt, squealed, and launched herself off the sofa and onto Geralt’s middle.

“Hello,” Geralt said, awkwardly patting the girl’s head.

“Hi, Ger-bear,” the girl said, face buried in Geralt’s stomach. “I saw statues with penises!”

“It’s art,” Acting-Prime Minister Yennefer z Vengerbergu said with a shrug.

“Penises don’t look like they do in art,” Geralt told the girl firmly. “They’re disgusting looking and if you ever see one on a person, not a statue, you have to tell me immediately so I can decapitate the person in question.”

“Okay,” the girl answered, and then she seemed to notice Jaskier. “Hello!”

Jaskier lifted a hand, forcing a smile. “Hello,” they said. “I’m Jaskier. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You were attacked by a serial killer,” the girl announced.

“Cirilla!” Geralt hissed.

“I was,” Jaskier said, flicking their gaze back to _Acting-Prime Minister Yennefer z Vengerbergu._ “Um. Hello.”

Acting-Prime Minister Yennefer z Vengerbergu lifted a hand in a greeting. “Jaskier,” she said. “Nice to meet you. I’m Yennefer.”

“Don’t ask them about it,” Geralt snapped to Yennefer. “Jaskier, go eat. The sketch artist will be here soon.”’

Jaskier nodded quickly. They gave the girl, Cirilla, another quick smile, then headed into the kitchen quickly. Cirilla ducked Geralt’s embrace and followed Jaskier.

“Geralt says you’re half-siren,” she said.

“Ah,” Jaskier answered, putting down the takeout and their makeup bag. “Yes. He says that.”

“Are you not?” Cirilla asked.

“Cirilla, don’t be rude,” Geralt scolded.

Cirilla rolled her eyes. “Says the man who communicates primarily in grunts.”  
  


“Hmph,” Geralt answered, crossing to the cupboard. “Jaskier, what tea do you want?”

“Chamomile,” Jaskier said gently. “May I have a glass of water?”

Geralt took down a cup and filled it from the fridge, then put it down. Jaskier sat at the counter and picked it up, then began chugging. The cool liquid soothed their stomach and after a minute, they’d drained it.

“What do you do?” Cirilla asked.

“Do what?” Jaskier replied, confused.

“For work,” Cirilla asked. “As a job.”  
  


“Oh,” Jaskier said, then frowned as they considered. “Well. Hm. I am… A… dancer.”  
  


“What kind of dancing?” Cirilla asked.

Jaskier looked at the back of Geralt’s head with wide eyes, silently pleading. Yennefer, _Acting-Prime Minister Yennefer,_ wandered into the kitchen and picked at Cirilla’s braids.

“They work in an adult club,” Yennefer said. “You, young lady, may learn more about such places when you’re older.”

“Ah, yes,” Jaskier said, hastily avoiding eye contact.

Cirilla gasped. “The Fox and the Hound!” they cried out.

“What?” Jaskier said at once, startled.

“Fuck,” Geralt hissed.

“The Fox and the Hound is an ADULT CLUB!” Cirilla shouted. “VESEMIR’S FRIEND WORKS AT AN ADULT CLUB!”

“Yes, and it’s none of your business,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier avoided all eye contact. They unpacked the bag of takeout and put out the two wraps.

“What happens at an adult club?” Cirilla asked. 

Jaskier cleared their throat and promptly started stuffing their face with their burrito. Cirilla leaned forward on the counter to look at Geralt. Geralt cleared his throat as well as he turned around.

“Adult things,” he said.

“But what are adult things?” Cirilla demanded.

“You are not yet thirteen,” Yennefer said, now pulling Cirilla’s hair from its braid. “You have a solid seven years before you count as an adult. For now, adult things that happen at adult clubs like the Fox and the Hound are not your concern. They primarily involve sex.”

“Geralt hasn’t explained sex to me fully,” Cirilla said, looking back at Yennefer. “He only explained periods and I still haven’t gotten mine.”

Jaskier wished very much that they were not in the room.

“Let’s go out for milkshakes,” Yennefer said.

“I see you trying to save Geralt from explaining,” Cirilla accused, even as she got off her stool and walked out of the kitchen.

Geralt leaned his whole upper body onto the island counter. Jaskier chuckled nervously.

“Very curious girl, hm?” they said.

“Sometimes I wish I could resurrect her grandmother just to slap her,” Geralt muttered. “Both for being an uptight _ass_ in educating her grandchild and for leaving her grandchild in _my_ care.”

Jaskier nodded understandingly. “So. You weren’t sure how to give The Talk?”

“No,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier gave a nod. “Could be worse,” they said, adding sauce to their burrito. “My parents never gave me The Talk. My local bully cornered me and gave me the gory details to spite me.”  
  


Geralt looked up. Jaskier shrugged and bit into their burrito. Geralt let out a hiss of breath.

“Humans,” he growled. “Fucking – _Humans._ ”

Jaskier would’ve gotten offended, but Geralt had a point. And… They were apparently not fully human. 

“That’ll get cold,” they said, gesturing to Geralt’s portion.

Geralt sighed. He straightened up and rubbed at his face. Behind him, the kettle began hissing. He turned and poured the boiling water into a mug, then put it down in front of Jaskier.

“Anything in that?” he asked.

Jaskier shook their head. They gave the teabag a few dunks, watching the water change color.

“What’s the time?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt checked his watch. “Almost four.”

Jaskier nodded. They reached up and rubbed at their forehead, then exhaled.

“I think,” they muttered to themself, “I shall deny clients penetration tonight.”

Geralt cleared his throat and turned. Jaskier glanced up, realizing Geralt heard them. They smiled a little.

“I don’t feel like going through all the necessary cleaning for anal,” they said. “I don’t allow clients access to my front hole, at all.”

“Hm,” Geralt said, looking away.

Jaskier bit their lip, then sat up more. “Do you take offense to my profession?” they asked.

  
  


“No,” Geralt said immediately. “You – It’s a very… Professional… profession.”

Jaskier raised their eyebrows. “You think?” they pressed. “Does it bother you that I’ve had sex with your friend, Vesemir?”

“No,” Geralt said, at once yet again. “Vesemir has sex with lots of people. I’ve had sex with Vesemir.”

“Ah,” Jaskier said. “You just – You seem disapproving.”

“No,” Geralt said a third time. “Sex work is a very respectable career. I – I have nothing against it.”

Jaskier thinned their lips, not quite sure they could believe Geralt. But Geralt didn’t look in their direction again, instead, picked up his burrito and sat to eat it. Jaskier looked down and resumed eating. They needed to finish so they could get started on their makeup. 

Geralt said nothing else to Jaskier, so Jaskier said nothing else to him. The silence was awkward and Jaskier wished they were in the living room instead, where the television could break up the quiet.

Instead, Jaskier ate quickly. They balled up the used paper and tossed it into the recycling bin, then got up. 

“May I use your bathroom to get ready?” they asked.

“Of course,” Geralt said, taking out his phone. “Renfri – the sketch artist – she’ll be here soon.”

Jaskier nodded. They grabbed their bag of makeup and left the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _mira asked why this chapter was 8k long, i said "have you met me?"_


	7. We’re hanging in the air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [We’re hanging in the air]()

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yeet_

#  _7: We’re hanging in the air_

  
  


Geralt felt relieved humans didn’t have as sensitive senses of smell as Witchers. If Jaskier had realized that Geralt was hiding his budding erection from them after hearing just the word _penetration –_ Geralt began several breathing exercises as soon as Jaskier left the kitchen to quell the blood rushing to his groin. He needed to get a grip. 

It was easy to claim that Jaskier’s siren blood was too tempting to Geralt, that his attraction to them was all due to that. Geralt liked easy explanations. He disliked the prospect of compromising his case because he had the hots for an attractive exotic dancer/prostitute.

“Gods, fuck me,” Geralt muttered.

“There is no such thing as god,” TLX-42 informed him.

“Thank you,” Geralt snapped towards the nearest screen; the refrigerator.

His phone buzzed. Renfri was coming up the elevator. Geralt got up and put away the remains of his burrito to eat later, then started a fresh pot of coffee. Renfri would drink two pots on her own, probably. He heard music start up across the apartment, in his bathroom, as well as the clinking of glass bottles and such. Jaskier, probably beginning their makeup routine. Geralt rubbed his eyes and wondered if he could get a nap before escorting Jaskier to the Fox and Hound.

Gods, the Fox and Hound. Jaskier would look like sex on legs, and appropriately. Geralt wondered if Yennefer would give him an anti-erection serum or something for the night. Gods, he might need one every night. 

Geralt scrubbed his hands over his face. Maybe this would be the inspiration for him to magically make a break-through in the case. Sheltering a would-be-victim who’s too damn attractive.

A knock sounded at the front door. Geralt got up, but Renfri was already letting herself in.

“Afternoon,” she said, tossing a can of beer at Geralt. “Check it.”

Geralt caught it deftly and read the label as Renfri strode into the apartment, looking around. 

“It’s a beer,” Geralt said flatly.

“Read more,” Renfri said. “Where’s the guy?”

“My bathroom,” Geralt said, pointing. “They/them pronouns, Renfri.”

Renfri strode off. Geralt found what she wanted him to see; it was a new exotic craft brew that claimed to be made using recipes from Witchers from the east. Geralt shook his head, but popped the cap and gave it a sip. Then he grimaced and went to the sink; he poured it out completely. It was terrible.

Geralt did not follow Renfri. He figured Jaskier could use the space. Instead, he sat down at the coffee table again and pulled up a still of the Chain-Killer leaving Jaskier’s apartment. He began trying to clear up the image.

Renfri came out a while later and poured herself a large mug of coffee, then vanished again. Geralt poured himself a fresh mug, then sat down again and focused. Whatever his suspect used, it was damn good.

“Alright,” Renfri said, walking in. “Done.”

Geralt looked up and checked the time. It was almost eight. 

“Good,” he said, pushing to his feet. “Give it here.”

Renfri blew on the thick piece of paper in her hands, then handed it over. Geralt turned it upright.

Middle-aged, gray to white hair receding beyond the forehead, thick, black eyebrows, the right cut by a thick scar. Bright red eyes. 

“Scary looking fellow,” Renfri commented. “But quite memorable.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the drawing. The suspect looked almost normal except for the red eyes. He sat down at the coffee table again and took a scan of the drawing, then put it into the program clearing up the still from the security cameras. He flipped it over again and just looked at it. The man’s lips were thin, chapped. His face was heavy with age. Renfri had drawn his lips parted; his teeth were yellow.

“Good witness, this one,” Renfri added. “Had some great details.”

“Hm,” Geralt agreed, touching his chin.

“I’m off, then,” Renfri added, putting her empty mug down on Geralt’s coffee table. “Your witness is also hot, Witcher. If they were more feminine. Whew.”

“Not funny,” Geralt growled.

Renfri laughed at him. “You’ve noticed,” she confirmed. “I’ll see you around, Witcher. Don’t let the only times you call me be to draw someone for your little detective games.”

“You can see yourself out,” Geralt muttered.

Renfri did. Geralt continued to stare at the drawing. His suspect’s jowls hung low. His neck sagged under his chin. He had age spots near his jaw, visible through a thinning beard.

“Render complete,” TLX-42 said.

Geralt looked up. The still matched the drawing. Almost perfectly.

“Zoom in on his eyes,” Geralt demanded.

The image enlarged. The suspect's eyes reflected the lights, but that didn’t hide the shape of their pupils. Jaskier must have missed that detail.

“Fuck,” Geralt hissed.

His suspect had vertically slit pupils. Inhumanly so.

#  _*_

Jaskier left Geralt’s bathroom in a bit of a whirl, nails drying from the recent color change, and face a little damp still from their setting spray. 

“What time is it?” Jaskier announced to the empty bedroom.

“Half-past nine,” Cynthia’s voice answered.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted, throwing their bag together with the tools they needed to touch up their makeup throughout the night. “Geralt, I need to get to work!”

Jaskier rushed out of the bedroom, then almost collided directly with Geralt.

“Oh,” they gasped, “so sorry. We need to leave.”

“Sure,” Geralt agreed. “Your costume is at the club already.”  
  


“Oh, thank god,” Jaskier sighed. “Okay, let’s go then.”

“Do you need to eat anything?” Geralt asked.

“No, I don’t eat before work,” Jaskier said, rushing past Geralt to get their coat. “C’mon!”

Geralt followed. Jaskier put their bag down to don the borrowed jacket and Geralt picked it up.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said.

Geralt just grunted. Jaskier tied the coat shut and put up the lapel, then reached for their bag. Geralt didn’t seem to notice. He just opened the front door and walked out. 

Jaskier let that go. They followed Geralt out, covering their mouth with a hand as they inexplicably yawned.

“You can call out,” Geralt said abruptly. “We have doctors here that can give you a note.”

Jaskier smiled in his direction. “Thank you, but no,” they said. “I’ll be alright.”

Geralt nodded and didn’t say anything else.

Priss was driving by herself that night and was already at the club, in fact. In the car, Jaskier put the radio on again and texted Priss updates on their arrival. Priss had their costume and was guarding it from Valdo, fortunately. Valdo was apparently in a particularly venomous mood that night. Jaskier was determined to ignore him.

“You can drop me off here,” Jaskier told Geralt as they pulled into the staff parking lot.

“I’ll be staying,” Geralt reminded them.

“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Then… Park over there, I guess.”

Geralt parked by Priscilla’s car, which Jaskier pointed out. Jaskier got their own bag before Geralt could pick it up and stepped out into the chilly air. It was ten twenty-five, and Jaskier hadn't cut it this fine in arriving at work since becoming carpool buddies with Priss.

Jaskier swiped their thumb at the back entrance and the door opened. Geralt caught it and held it open as Jaskier strode into the dressing room, buffeted by warm air.

“Shut the door!” one of the other dancers yelled in their direction.

“Come on,” Jaskier said, heading for their table.

“Ooh, damn, Dandelion!” Rava called out as they and Geralt passed. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

A few other dancers wolf-whistled. Valdo even craned his neck to see.

“He’s my bodyguard!” Jaskier announced to the room. “And if any of you hoes puts your tits in his face, I’ll have your kneecaps!”

Geralt lifted his eyebrows. Jaskier dropped their bag onto their dressing table, then ripped open the sealed paper bags waiting for them.

“Oh, thank god,” they muttered upon finding their costume in good condition.

They promptly began stripping down to change. Geralt stepped between Jaskier’s table and Priscilla’s and turned his face up to the ceiling. Jaskier ignored both him and the butterflies in their stomach.

“Shit, darling, I was going to wear green tonight,” Priscilla announced to Jaskier, sitting down on their desk.

“I only have one outfit,” Jaskier told her flatly, “you can change.”

“So, what the fuck happened?” Priss demanded. “Why’s tall, white, and scary with you?”

“It’s nothing,” Jaskier insisted, giving her a smile. “Honestly, don’t worry about it, it’s already dealt with.”

Priscilla looked unconvinced. Jaskier put on their white base panties, snapping the straps over their hips, and sat down to untangle their body jewelry. 

Valdo wandered over, waving a boa in lazy circles. “So,” he said to Geralt, “what’s your name, handsome?”

Jaskier grabbed a hairbrush and chucked it as hard as they could at Valdo’s head. Valdo screamed and ducked and the brush hit the wall.

“Kneecaps!” Jaskier snapped. “What part of that didn’t I make perfectly clear, darling?”

“I’m not hurting you,” Valdo snapped back, “there’s no need to resort to violence!”

Jaskier grabbed a comb and raised it threateningly. “Fuck off, love,” they said. “Before I neglect to miss.”’

Valdo rolled his eyes and flicked his boa around his neck, then strode back to his table. Jaskier looked around the room.

“I make myself perfectly clear, my loves?” they asked sweetly.

They got a few grumbles and rolled eyes. Jaskier dropped the comb, huffing, and stuck their feet through the legs of their jeweled hot pants.

“You usually threaten your co-workers?” Geralt said softly in Jaskier’s direction.

“Someone has to keep them in line,” Jaskier muttered, standing up to do up the hooks at their waist. “Priss, darling, could you stick a few feathers in my hat?”

“You’re lucky I adore you,” Priscilla agreed, laying a few bright green ostrich feathers on Jaskier’s dressing table.

Jaskier blew her a kiss. They sat down again to put on the rest of their jewelry; the halter top, dangly earrings, headpiece, bracelets. They fixed the feathers in their hat with a shiny broach and set it on their head, using pins to keep it in place.

“Roll!” Dymitr called, storming in.

Jaskier didn’t listen to the other names, just knew by memory when theirs was called. “Here!” they shouted, carefully sticking fake gems to their fingernails.

“Who the fuck is this?” Dymitr said, stopping by Jaskier’s table. “The Witcher? What’re you doing here?”

“He’s my bodyguard,” Jaskier said before Geralt could answer, then turned around in their chair and gave Dymitr a bright smile. “I might’ve had a run-in in my apartment with a crazed psycho who wanted to kill me. Alright if my friend sticks around to make sure I don’t get knifed during the night?”

Dymitr blinked at them. He opened his mouth a few times, then shut up.

“I don’t want him going upstairs,” Dymitr said, then strode off.

Jaskier rolled their eyes and returned to their nails. Geralt coughed next to them.

“What?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt just grunted. Jaskier looked up.

“What?” they asked again.

Geralt lifted an eyebrow. “You’re sure you don’t run this place?” he asked softly.

Jaskier laughed and shook their head. They continued fixing gems to their nails.

They never went out into the club until at least an hour after opening. Valdo was out first thing, the little plebeian. Jaskier took great care fixing their nails and adjusting their hat, then at 12:07, they got up to report for their first set on stage. Geralt pushed off the wall and followed.

“You’ll be watching, of course,” Jaskier said, walking backstage.

Geralt grunted.

Jaskier glanced over their shoulder, then stopped and had to look back. Geralt was looking at nothing, his jaw clenched. His arms were crossed over his chest firmly. He looked quite tense.

Jaskier smiled, a single butterfly stirring in their stomach.

“I hope you enjoy the show,” they said softly.

“Hm,” Geralt grunted again, not looking.

Jaskier slipped their tongue from their mouth, wetting the inside of their lips, then glanced down Geralt’s front. Geralt was large everywhere, and maybe the generous bulge in his pants was just his softened weight. Or maybe…

Jaskier decided that if one good thing was going to come out of almost getting murdered, it would be experiencing Geralt’s dick. After making this decision, they mounted the stage and stepped out to cheers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i'm being actively attacked by my kitten while getting this ready to upload. know that._


	8. You say, "Come over, baby, I think you're pretty"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [You say, "Come over, baby, I think you're pretty"](https://genius.com/Billie-eilish-you-should-see-me-in-a-crown-lyrics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this was just beta'd by grammarly btw. and if you noticed anything about the chapter count, shhhh. don't worry about it. this chapter gets steamy near the end, keep your hats on, folks_

#  _8: You say, "Come over, baby, I think you're pretty"_

  
  


Before they knew it, Jaskier had been staying at Geralt’s apartment for three weeks The Witchers had been delivering their costumes to Geralt’s apartment and the office space behind Geralt’s sofa had accumulated Jaskier’s shoes, corsets, tutus, and other costume pieces.

“How do you walk in these?” Ciri asked Jaskier, holding up a pair of 8-inch platform heels.

“Like this,” Jaskier said, taking them.

They sat down, pulled their pant legs up, and zipped their thighs into the boots. Then they stood up and started walking.

“Wow,” Ciri said in awe. “I wanna learn to do that!”

“I assume it involves a lot of balance and leg strength,” Geralt commented, sounding genuine in his contemplation. “You could incorporate it into your ballet training.”

“Fuck ballet, I wanna learn how to walk in heels,” Ciri announced.

Jaskier booped Ciri’s button nose. “I learned ballet before I learned how to walk in massive heels,” they said, “and your feet are still growing, so if you tried to walk in these, you would probably hurt yourself.”

Ciri pouted. Geralt rolled his eyes.

Jaskier’s apartment was emptied, actually. Everything they needed was now at Geralt’s. They slept on the couch, refusing Geralt’s bed any longer. Three weeks had gone by, and Jaskier only realized when Geralt told them they could return home.

“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Well…”

Geralt looked at Jaskier with his stony mask, leaning on the island counter between them and just looking at Jaskier. Jaskier’s stomach swooped in multiple directions.

“I don’t think I want to go back,” Jaskier said softly. “I’m not sure… I would feel safe there.”

“Stay then,” Geralt answered, tone as unreadable as his expression. “You can keep the couch until you find someplace new to live.”

Jaskier smiled. They moved around the counter and held out their hands. Geralt looked at them, at their hands, then back up to their face, gaze lingering just past Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I’m asking for a hug,” Jaskier confessed, smiling softly. “Please?”

Geralt blinked. He raised his arms, then moved in stiffly. He patted Jaskier’s back, their torsos barely touching, and then drew back. Jaskier smiled again.

“I feel sorry for Cirilla if you think that’s a proper hug,” they said. “Come here.”

They pulled Geralt close, stood on their toes, and hugged Geralt tight. Geralt’s hands landed on Jaskier’s back, placed deliberately, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Jaskier let their face rest against Geralt’s collar bone, as far as they could reach, and held on for a second. They inhaled deeply. Geralt smelled like coffee, somehow, and the leather of his jacket. Geralt’s right hand slid a little, going down Jaskier’s spine towards the small of his back. Jaskier held on, perhaps for too long.

Geralt cleared his throat. Jaskier pulled back, hands sliding across Geralt’s shoulders until they lost contact. Geralt cleared his throat a second time, then nodded, and then he walked away. Jaskier put a hand on the counter, watching Geralt go, and lifted the corner of his lips a little.

That night, Jaskier went upstairs with Priscilla and a client. The client showed themself out afterwards, and Priss grabbed Jaskier’s arm before they left.

“You and that Witcher,” she said, “are you fucking?”

Jaskier pouted. “No,” they said regretfully. “He’s very…” Then stopped, and sighed. “I’m not sure if he’s disinterested or he’s trying too hard to be respectful.”

“You should fuck him and get it out of your system,” Priss told them firmly. “If I catch you looking longingly at that brute one more time, I’m going to go mad.”

“I don’t look at him longingly!” Jaskier snapped. “I’ve barely known him three weeks!”

“And how long does it take you to fall in love, Jaskier?” Priscilla demanded. 

Jaskier gaped. Priscilla raised her eyebrows. Jaskier then gasped, realizing she was right.

“Oh, fuck,” they whispered.

“Fuck is right,” Priscilla said. “Also, he’s scaring off your clients.”

Priscilla was right about that, too. Geralt stayed at the back of the club, but Jaskier realized they were gravitating towards him and the clients there. Geralt then glared at the clients, who often realized that they were being watched, and then moved on.

“Shit,” Jaskier muttered.

At the end of the night, as Geralt was driving them back, Jaskier cleared their throat.

“I think it would be best if you stayed in the back while I’m working,” they said. “You and your sour face tend to decrease the level of horniness in the room.”

“Hmph,” Geralt answered.

The next night, Geralt ducked into the kitchens. Jaskier found him later sitting at the little security desk, watching the cameras. Jaskier left him there.

“So,” Priscilla asked later in the dressing room, “have you fucked yet?”

Jaskier touched up the blush on their nose, then blew a kiss to the mirror. “Nope,” they said.

“Why not?” 

“I’ll let him figure it out first,” Jaskier said. “Also, I might just appreciate him as a friend, Priss. You consider that?”

Priscilla laughed. Jaskier stuck their tongue out at her and left the dressing room.

Jaskier had feelings for Geralt. Yes. They would happily get on their knees for him, too. They also liked spending time with him. He was nice, once you got past the grunting and the blank expressions. What little physical contact they’d had over the past two weeks, that, too, was pleasant.

Being Geralt’s friend sounded nice to Jaskier. Maybe more than getting in bed with him did.

#  _*_

Geralt had been trying to find another trace of his serial killer for three weeks now. He still had Jaskier sleeping on his couch. He was still driving Jaskier to and from work and staying there during the night, watching for a glimpse of a scarred eyebrow or red eyes. 

He was supposed to be, at least.

He kept watching Jaskier, instead.

“Gods,” Geralt muttered to himself, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as he realized for the dozenth time he’d found himself just staring at Jaskier instead of watching the crowds around them.

Jaskier was obviously very attractive, and their siren blood made them even more appealing, but Geralt was supposed to be beyond that.

Sitting in his office, studying camera feeds around the Fox and Hound, Geralt was startled by Vesemir entering.

“Spill it before I use Axii on you,” Vesemir demanded.

“Spill what?” Geralt grumbled.

Vesemir stormed forward and started stripping off his gloves.

“Don’t!” Geralt cut Vesemir off. “Fine, just – What exactly am I spilling?”

Vesemir scowled. “Sometimes I forget you don’t think laterally,” he said. “Pankratz. The siren stripper.”

Geralt clenched his jaw. “What about it?”

“I come back here to find that they’re living with you practically,” Vesemir said. “Ciri has barely seen you in the past few weeks. TLX-42 says you’ve slept _twice._ ”

“How many times have you slept in the past month?” Geralt countered.

“Not the question right now,” Vesemir snapped.

“Monkey see, monkey do,” TLX-42 commented.

“Shut up!” Vesemir said to the computer, before rounding his accusatory finger back on Geralt. “Your ward told me, _I quote,_ “Geralt makes a very funny face every time Jaskier opens their mouth.’”

“Ciri says I make faces at everything,” Geralt insisted.

Vesemir raised his hand, expression no-nonsense. Geralt let out his breath very heavily.

“What do you want me to say?” Geralt asked.

“Have you fucked them?” Vesemir asked.

“No,” Geralt said sharply, as his thoughts turned guiltily to memories of Jaskier’s face surfacing in his thoughts while masturbating. “That would be wildly inappropriate.”

Vesemir sat on the edge of Geralt’s desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “You want to,” he stated.

“Fucking –” Geralt growled, sinking his head into his hands. “I think I’d have to be blind to not want them.”

“You would,” Vesemir retorted. 

“But it would be _wrong,_ ” Geralt insisted harshly. “They’re staying with me because of an attempt on their life. I’d be a fucking creep if I came onto them now?”

Vesemir blew out his breath and leaned back, uncrossing his arms to lean on the desk. “Geralt,” he said. “First. The Chain-Killer case has no leads. Your efforts are needed elsewhere.”

Geralt felt his gut twist and he shot to his feet. “Vesemir, six people are dead, a seventh nearly died –”

“And there are no leads,” Vesemir insisted. “I’m not closing the case, kid, I’m telling you to put it on the back burner.”

Geralt opened his mouth and Vesemir just lifted a hand.

“There are other things you could be working on,” he insisted. “Other things that need your talents. Alright?”

Geralt thinned his lips and growled under his breath. Vesemir pushed off the desk and got nose-to-nose with Geralt, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. 

“You challenging me, pup?” Vesemir growled back at him.

Geralt pulled his lip back, baring his teeth. Vesemir growled louder and showed his teeth, standing almost as tall as Geralt somehow.

“Put the case aside,” Vesemir demanded, his voice pitched very low. 

“Six people are dead,” Geralt snapped.

“And there are others being attacked and harassed every day!” Vesemir countered angrily. “Put the case aside until there are more leads, _pup._ ”

Geralt let out his breath sharply, stubbornness growling in him even though he knew Vesemir was right. He growled aloud again and Vesemir bared his teeth farther. Geralt hissed through his teeth and broke eye contact, jerking away to glare in another direction. Vesemir growled approvingly, then he dropped a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and squeezed briefly.

“Good,” he said firmly. “Now. Jaskier.”

“What about them?” Geralt growled.

“Jaskier’s a big kid,” Vesemir said. “You’re not an asshole. Quit pretending you don’t like them and say something, or I’ll invite them to live with me until they get back on their feet.”

Geralt growled immediately at the thought. Vesemir gave a nod and squeezed Geralt’s shoulder again.

“See?” he said. “You’ve found your mate, Geralt. Quit fucking around and do something about it.”

Vesemir then left Geralt there. Geralt stood rooted to the spot, his eyes very wide as he processed.

“Mate…” he muttered.

“Witchers historically have found themselves compelled to form life partnerships with individuals, more intense than the human concept of monogamy,” TLX-42 commented as if Geralt _needed_ to be reminded of Witcher mating tendencies. “This life partnership involves an intense need to possess, protect, and provide for said mate –”

“Thank you!” Geralt snarled at the computer.

“You seemed confused,” TLX-42 added, its avatar grinning widely at Geralt in some mimicry of a helpful expression. “My programming insists I be helpful wherever possible –”

Geralt growled through the end of TLX-42’s sentence and snatched his jacket from the back of his chair. TLX-42 waved as Geralt stormed out.

“Fucking –” he muttered, “Vesemir – fuckin’ _mate,_ I can’t – No –”

Geralt opened the door to his apartment and strode inside, only to find the kitchen an explosion of white powder, and both Jaskier and Ciri frozen in place with handfuls of said powder, looking at Geralt with equally guilty expressions.

“What –” Geralt said.

“He started it!” Ciri cried out, dropping her handful of probably flour onto the counter.

“Ciri, _they,_ ” Geralt answered frustratedly. “Wait –”

“No, I’m masculine today,” Jaskier cut Geralt off, brushing the flour off their – _his?_ – hands to the counter. “He/him is correct.”

Geralt blinked. He looked around the kitchen.

“What happened?” he asked.

“We’re making cookies,” Ciri explained.

Geralt looked up at the splashes of flour on the ceiling, then back at Ciri. He just pointed up.

“We have robots!” Ciri insisted.

“You’re cleaning this up by hand,” Geralt decided.

“But –” Ciri started.

“No,” Geralt said. “Jaskier –”

“I’ll clean,” Jaskier said quickly, smiling. “I did start it.”

Geralt thinned his lips. Jaskier smiled brightly, flour smeared all over his face and streaking his hair. Geralt found it difficult to say Vesemir was wrong.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Geralt asked gruffly.

Jaskier’s smile dropped. “Sure,” he said, brushing the flour off himself. “Of course. Really, I will help clean up, I did start –”

“Not about this,” Geralt said quickly. “Just – Privately.”

“Of course,” Jaskier said, stepping into the hallway with Geralt.

Geralt lead Jaskier out of the apartment, knowing that if he didn’t, Ciri would listen in. He felt oddly like… He was nervous. Which was abnormal.

“What’s up?” Jaskier asked, clearly working to keep his tone level while his scent was spiking in anxiety.

“You’re attractive,” Geralt blurted. “I’m… Attracted.”

“Oh!” Jaskier answered.

Geralt gave a nod, jaw tight. Jaskier then laughed.

“This wasn’t what I thought you were going to start,” Jaskier said, chuckling softly. “Well –”

Geralt immediately regretted everything.

“My attraction to you is irrelevant, you should be aware so you can purse more comfortable lodgings,” he said, nodding firmly. “I would not do you any disservice in withholding necessary information from you, so you can make a well-informed decision. Vesemir –”

Jaskier lurched forward, hands lifting to cup his face, and then –

Jaskier kissed him.

Geralt blinked. Jaskier’s lips were soft, yet he had a fair amount of stubble that Geralt had not anticipated. Jaskier’s hands were warm, and gentle, and calloused actually, along the palms and his fingertips. Geralt had seen a guitar amongst Jaskier’s things. He wasn’t quite sure why he had expected Jaskier to have soft hands.

“Does that answer your questions?” Jaskier murmured, their noses still touching.

“Somewhat,” Geralt said honestly. “I’m not sure if you’re aware – Witchers, we – We prefer to _possess_ our partners. In a way.”

“What ways?” Jaskier replied, now trailing a finger down Geralt’s jaw.

“Not in insisting our partners be homemakers,” Geralt specified quickly. “Nor would your job be an issue; firstly, I assume you use condoms.”

“Yes,” Jaskier laughed. “Does that mean being possessed by a Witcher would require a lack of condoms?”  
  


Geralt’s lip twitched at the corner. “It is… Typical… That we mark our territory with…”

Jaskier’s eyebrows lifted. “Territory?” he repeated breathily.

“In the interest of full disclosure,” Geralt insisted. “Yes. Territory.”

“Fascinating,” Jaskier murmured, his gaze lowering from Geralt’s eyes to his mouth.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said carefully.

“If I were to tell you,” Jaskier began softly, “that I happen to be… both submissive and a brat in the bedroom…?”

“What about it?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier smiled and lifted his gaze back to Geralt’s. “That’s something you could… reciprocate?”

“Yes,” Geralt said. 

“And…” Jaskier added, sliding his finger now down Geralt’s neck towards the collar of his shirt, “if I were to add that I tend to prefer my partners… in a very certain role…?”

Geralt lifted his eyebrows. “Which would be?”

Jaskier smirked, then licked his lips, opened them again, and breathed out: “As a daddy?”

“Yes, I can reciprocate that,” Geralt agreed.

“Wonderful,” Jaskier murmured, sliding his hand to cup the side of Geralt’s neck. “And, hypothetically, how soon would you wish to… mark your territory?”

Geralt blinked, considering. “Are you initiating a sexual relationship between us?” he asked.

“If you are,” Jaskier purred.

“I need you to be clear about this,” Geralt added. “I want to control when you come. I want to provide what you eat, what you use to bathe, the clothes you wear. I _need_ to do these things. I do not wish to change how you do your job, nor control that or your finances; you’d be your own person, still, I just –”

“Want to be a doting, providing daddy?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes,” Geralt said. 

“I consent to those things,” Jaskier said. “My safeword is pudding. Would you like to have a full kink negotiation?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, nodding firmly once more.

“When?” Jaskier asked, voice breathy again. “And how _soon,_ darling, are you going to mark your territory?”

Geralt couldn’t help but growl. His hands were hanging uselessly at his side, so he put them to work. He grabbed Jaskier’s waist and the small of his back, yanking him flush against his body, then cupped his jaw and brought their lips to almost touching once more, head tilted to the side to brush their noses together, and Jaskier inhaled softly. Geralt shut his eyes and drew in a deep lungful of Jaskier’s scent. It was honeyed by arousal.

“You don’t work tomorrow?” Geralt postulated.

“No,” Jaskier murmured.

“It’s a school day,” Geralt added. “We’ll be alone in the apartment.”

“What about tonight?” Jaskier asked, his voice a soft rush. “After work, maybe?”

“You’ll be tired,” Geralt reminded him. “You’ll need rest.”

“Not too tired to get fucked,” Jaskier answered cheekily.

Geralt tipped his head up and pressed his nose against Jaskier’s hairline, breathing deeply once again. Jaskier let out his breath, his hands slid down from Geralt’s neck to his chest. He grabbed onto Geralt’s pecs and squeezed.

“We should talk first,” Geralt insisted, tamping down his own desires to be reasonable about this. “Discuss if I – if we are what the other needs in a relationship. I couldn’t mate you and not be enough for you. I can’t share in that way.”

“How could you not be enough?” Jaskier asked, hands moving back to Geralt’s face. “Darling –”

“We should discuss our needs,” Geralt insisted. “Then discuss sex. Romance. Either. Both.”

“And what if I need something now?” Jaskier murmured.

“Hmm,” Geralt answered softly as he tipped his head down again to bring their lips closer. “You’re tempting, Jaskier…”

“Let me tempt you,” Jaskier insisted, lifting his chin to brush their lips together. “It would be _so_ good, sweetheart.”

“Hm,” Geralt murmured again. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Then…” Jaskier whispered, his hand trailing down Geralt’s front. “Please?”  
  


Jaskier’s long fingers, warm and rough, slipped just inside Geralt’s jeans. He pressed close, bringing their hips flush together. Geralt was made very suddenly aware of his own erection, throbbing inside his pants. He growled and ducked his head down to press his nose into Jaskier’s neck, inhaling his sweet, aroused scent, and growled again. Jaskier let out a low, breathy moan, and his fingers gripped Geralt’s belt buckle.

Geralt cut off his growl and cleared his throat, then grasped Jaskier’s elbows and pushed him back a little.

“Geralt!” Jaskier whined at once.

“After,” Geralt insisted. “I can’t take you and not keep you. This isn’t casual, Jaskier.”

Jaskier blinked, then licked his lips, bit the lower, then smiled.

“Fine,” he agreed. “But only because I expect a thorough pounding tomorrow afternoon.”

Geralt’s cock twitched, as did the corner of his lip. “Alright,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

Jaskier nodded. Geralt took a breath to steady himself, then stepped back and scrubbed at his face. 

“You should take care of that, though,” Jaskier added, glancing down Geralt’s front.

“Hm,” Geralt rumbled. “Jaskier…”

“Yes, darling?” Jaskier said immediately, stepping closer.

“You’ve fucked Vesemir,” Geralt said, pointing out the obvious. “Any other of my order?”

“No,” Jaskier said. “Does that make things odd –”

“No,” Geralt said quickly. “No, not that. I assure you, your past with anyone doesn’t bother me, nor would I be upset if you continued to take his patronage in the future. I ask because – Vesemir is of a previous generation. I have different mutations.”

Jaskier lifted his shoulders. “What of it?”

“Different physical mutations,” Geralt said awkwardly. “My – Hm. Specifically… of my cock, Jaskier. It is abnormal.”

Jaskier’s eyes, unexpectedly, lit up. “In what way?” he asked, voice breathy again.

“I have what’s called a knot,” Geralt explained clinically. “Located at the base of my shaft. It swells and expands after orgasm.”

“I know what those are,” Jaskier whispered. “Fuck…”

He smelled twice as aroused now. Geralt glanced at him, saw his dilated pupils, then had to look away and steady himself with a deep breath. He still smelled Jaskier.

“We can discuss this tomorrow,” Geralt said quickly. “I needed to inform you. I prefer to penetrate my partners, but given my size and girth, it can be uncomfortable. You should think about that.”

“I wish I could demonstrate right now how much the thought of your knot does not make me uncomfortable,” Jaskier said softly.

Geralt inhaled sharply again. “It’s not small –” he started to say.

“How big?” Jaskier asked, almost demandingly.

Geralt shrugged. “I haven’t measured, it’s –”

“This thick?” Jaskier asked, lifting both hands and gesturing by interlocking his fingers, a circumference of perhaps ten centimeters. “More?”

Geralt exhaled. “I’ll… I’ll show you tomorrow.”

“Gods, I can’t wait,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re tempting,” he growled.

“Alright, alright,” Jaskier sighed. “Well. You go take care of that, darling… I’ll see you in a bit.”

Jaskier turned and walked away. Geralt held back a growl, then strode off in the other direction towards his office. He heard his apartment’s front door shut at the other end of the hallway. Geralt barged back into his office and almost slammed the door, then locked it.

“What’s the trouble, cowboy?” TLX-42 commented.

“Deactivate in here for the next thirty minutes,” Geralt growled, dropping into his chair. “Start now.”  
  


“You’re no fun,” TLX-42 said, avatar scowling at him before winking out. 

The computer screen informed him that his AI had vacated the system. Geralt knocked the keyboard out of the way, then kicked his feet up as he hastily undid his belt and jeans. He leaned forward to grab a tissue box, sat it closeby, then pushed his underwear back and freed his aching cock. 

It sprang up, dripping already. Geralt threw his head back, at once picturing Jaskier’s teeth biting down on his soft lower lip, and growled as he spread his pre-cum over his palm and began to fist himself. 

“Fuck,” Geralt growled.

He thought about Jaskier’s tongue sweeping across his lips. The zipper in that damned pair of panties Jaskier had been wearing the night they first met. _His scent;_ Geralt growled, clenching his jaw. He could still smell it on him, wherever Jaskier had touched him, and Geralt yanked his shirt up to stick his nose in the fabric, which held a faint trace of Jaskier’s affectionate, aroused scent.

Geralt came embarrassingly quickly, much sooner than the thirty minutes he’d told TLX-42 to vacate the office. He barely managed to grab the tissue box in time; he growled again, deep in his chest, and fumbled to press the tissues against the head of his cock as he came hard.

After, Geralt balled the dirty tissues up in dry ones, then threw them away. He leaned back in his chair, cock hanging from his jeans, and focused on his breathing. He stayed hard and sensitive for a while, but a few minutes of controlled breathing brought his heart rate to normal. He put his dick away, fixed his pants again, and put the tissue box back somewhere innocuous. Then he ducked into the attached bathroom to wash his hands and splash his face with cold water. He inhaled and exhaled carefully again, then left the office.

Geralt re-entered his apartment and found Ciri standing on the island counter, wiping flour from the ceiling. He hummed, evaluating the state of the place. It wasn’t bad for a twenty-minute job.

“Can the robots finish?” Ciri asked.

Geralt exhaled. “Have you learned your lesson?” he questioned.

“Yes,” Ciri said petulantly.

Geralt wasn’t sure if she had or not. But he lifted his hands and helped Ciri get down from the counter.

“No more flour fights,” he said.

Ciri scrunched up her nose as she scowled at him. “Sometimes I wonder if you have a sense of fun,” she said.

“Amusing,” Geralt answered. “Have you got homework to complete?”

Ciri scowled even harder. “Maybe,” she muttered.

Geralt took her shoulder and lead her to the living room. “Let’s see it, then.”

Ciri had a lot of homework. Apparently, only a third of it was due Monday, so Geralt helped her with that first. It was largely math. Complex math.

“I’m quite sure you don’t really need to know this at your grade level,” Geralt growled under his breath.

“It’s basic geometry,” Ciri insisted. 

“Still,” Geralt grumbled.

Twenty minutes after Geralt sat down with Ciri to do her homework, Jaskier wandered into the living room, hair wet and fluffy, with a little drip of perspiration still on his temple.

“What’s this?” Jaskier asked, looking down at Ciri’s tablet and the coffee table screen.

“I’m struggling to rationalize lines,” Ciri sighed.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Jaskier answered. “Move over, Geralt.”

Geralt moved out of the way. Jaskier took his spot next to Ciri and expanded the problem they’d been working on, then effortlessly and routinely solved it, all while explaining each step. Ciri was wide-eyed.

“That’s so much simpler than how my professor explained it!” she whispered.

“They always teach you the hard way first,” Jaskier told her. “So, that’s the easy way, and if your teachers are anything like mine, you’ll get it wrong for not doing it the way they want you to. Let’s do it the hard way now.”

Geralt got up, seeing as he’d been made redundant. It was close to two in the afternoon, and Jaskier would soon want something to eat before getting ready for work. Geralt looked at the clock on the television screen for a while, wondering if he ought to start hunting for a new case.

“This is bullshit!” Ciri groaned.

“Geralt, is she allowed to swear?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt looked around. “What did she say?” he asked.

“Bullshit!” Ciri said loudly. “And this is!”

“That’s fine,” Geralt told Jaskier. “If she starts saying anything that’s a euphemism for bodily functions or appendages, then scold her.”

“Piss!” Ciri declared.

“Scolding,” Jaskier agreed. “Young human, you ought to watch your language. One day you’ll accidentally say the wrong swear word in front of a professor or an employer and you’ll wish you’d listened to your dear friend, Jaskier.”

Geralt smiled as Ciri pouted. _Yes,_ he thought. Jaskier was good for them.

He left the living room and entered his bedroom to change out of his work clothes. As he opened the door, he was hit by a thick aroma; Jaskier’s. Geralt stopped and inhaled, then followed the scent to the bed. He sat down and pressed his nose to the rumpled sheets. Sweat. Arousal. And –

Geralt growled and sat up, focusing on regulating his blood flow once again. Jaskier must’ve wiped his fingers all over the sheets after touching himself. 

“Dammit,” Geralt growled, getting up and moving away.

He could hardly wait until the next afternoon, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hehe they gonna fuck soon_


	9. Watch me make 'em bow (One by one by)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Watch me make 'em bow (One by one by)](https://genius.com/14999298)

#  _9: Watch me make 'em bow (One by one by)_

  
  


In the next hour that Jaskier assisted Ciri with her math homework, Geralt made food. He grunted without looking as he put a plate in front of Jaskier, and Jaskier smirked before tucking in. He hadn't made eye contact with Jaskier since going into his bedroom, which led Jaskier to believe his romp in Geralt’s bed had been a successful scheme. He wondered, as he tucked into the meal, if this was part of _providing,_ as Geralt had implied he wanted to do, but he wouldn’t ask that in front of Ciri. He ate at a steady pace, then sat for a little while to let his stomach settle as he drank a large bottle of water, then left Geralt and Ciri doing her homework once more to get ready.

Jaskier laid out an outfit on Geralt’s still rumpled bed, then hopped into the shower. He shaved and moisturized. He cleansed his face, then began his makeup routine. He was wearing hot pink that evening and matched his makeup to that color scheme. At seven-thirty, he paused his makeup to go through his anal hygiene routine, giving himself an hour to douche and rest before finishing his makeup.

At six past nine, Jaskier dressed in comfortable street clothes and put his costume away. He packed up the necessary makeup, checked his hair was sufficiently fluffy, then laced up his platform sneakers before striding out of the room.

Geralt was sitting on the sofa, drumming his fingers on his knees. It seemed Ciri had already gone to her room; Jaskier paused to listen, and caught the sounds of her playing some video game. Geralt waited, eyes on the muted TV.

“I’m ready,” Jaskier said.

Geralt got up, moving stiffly. He glanced up at Jaskier, then hummed softly and gave a nod. Jaskier headed for the door, and Geralt moved beyond him to get their coats. He held Jaskier’s out for him.

“How sweet,” Jaskier said, smiling at him.

He put his bag down and slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat. Geralt lifted it onto his shoulders and adjusted it. Jaskier buttoned it up as Geralt put his own jacket on, then bent down for his bag again. Geralt grabbed it before he could.

“You gentleman,” Jaskier cooed, touching Geralt’s face. “You’re so considerate.”

“Hm,” Geralt answered.

Jaskier smirked and lifted onto his toes. He had to, even with the four inches his sneakers gave him; height hadn't been something gender-confirming surgery couldn’t fix. But he cupped Geralt’s face and pulled him down to meet him, and kissed him.

Geralt’s hand slid around Jaskier’s waist and squeezed. Jaskier pulled back with a softer peck to Geralt’s lips, then dropped back onto his heels and smiled at Geralt again.

“I could get used to this,” he purred.

“Hm,” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier chuckled and pinched Geralt’s cheek gently, then let him go to open the door. Geralt took it from him, then pulled it shut behind them. 

Traffic wasn’t bad for a Sunday night. Jaskier hummed along to the radio and looked out the window as Geralt drove, jaw clenched as always. Jaskier glanced at him occasionally, evaluating his tight jaw, and resolved to help the Witcher relax more often in the future. 

As had become their routine, Geralt followed Jaskier into the Fox and Hound dressing room and leaned on the wall by his dressing table. Jaskier got into his costume for the night; booty shorts, a deep V-neck vest with a frilled collar and a corset belt, mini wrist ruffs, plus thigh-high open-toed boots with fringe. His boots were suede, but everything else was wet-look PVC.

At midnight, Jaskier dabbed a little bit more sparkly gloss to his lips, then grabbed Geralt’s wrist and pulled him out of the dressing room.

He had a plan.

“The cameras –” Geralt said.

“It’s easier to enjoy the show from the floor,” Jaskier told Geralt, turning back to smile at him as he walked backwards. “Besides, you won’t scare anyone off, you’ll all be looking up.”  
  


Geralt looked conflicted. Jaskier halted and cupped Geralt’s face again.

“Please, darling?” he said, sticking out his lower lip.

“You’re very compelling,” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier smiled and pecked Geralt’s lips again. “Good man,” he said. “Go out there and enjoy yourself. But not too much,” he added with a wink.

“Hmph,” Geralt said.

He stepped back. Jaskier patted his cheek, then trotted backstage and climbed the steps to the wings.

Jaskier tapped a com panel nearby to contact the DJ. 

“Dear, can you do me a favor?” he asked. “Switch my set to _Buttons?_ ”

“Whatever,” the DJ answered.

Jaskier checked his hair one last time in the closest mirror, then made sure there was a chair handy nearby. 

“Without Snoop Dogg?” the DJ paged.

“Without,” Jaskier answered quickly.

The DJ flashed the com panel to confirm. Jaskier blew out his breath, strangely nervous. The music started up. Jaskier strode onto the stage amidst cheers and at once, launched into the lyrics:

“I’m tellin’ you to loosen up my buttons, babe!” 

Jaskier grabbed the pole and gave himself a spin, going through the first few lines. He hooked his ankle on the pole and swung around it, spinning down until his knee hit the floor and he gave his torso a flip. He winked to the audience, singing: 

“Sayin' what you gon' do to me. But I ain't seen nothing!”

The club’s patrons were cheering and Jaskier could see his tip balance going up as they touched their credit rings to the edge of the stage. Jaskier rolled onto his back, kicking his legs, then, pausing for breath between lines, kicked out and launched himself back onto his feet. The cheers doubled. Jaskier grinned into the crowd again, looking for a pair of glowing, orange eyes.

Geralt was near the back. Of course.

The first verse finished, Jaskier trailed his fingers along the pole for a moment, then strode purposefully upstage, crossing his feet and letting his hips sway. There was a break before the second verse and Jaskier took that moment to pull the chair from the wings. 

The cheers doubled again and Jaskier saw his balance rocketing up. Jaskier turned around and licked his lips, then gave the folding chair a jerk and popped it open.

“Typical and hardly the type I fall for,” Jaskier continued, setting the chair by the poll. “I like when the physical don't leave me asking for more –!”  
  


Jaskier tossed a leg over the seat of the chair and rolled his body, arching his ass out, then pivoted on the other foot and strode down the stairs attached to the stage.

The patrons cheered and applauded, many straining to keep themselves from reaching out. Jaskier held out his wrist for their credit rings, continuing the song, and sashayed through the crowd, loving the attention. Of course, he had a goal in mind.

Geralt looked simultaneously like he’d drunk pickle juice and like he wanted to take Jaskier right then and there. Jaskier grinned and trailed his fingers along Geralt’s jaw.

“You been sayin' all the right things all night long,” he sang in a purr. “But I can't seem to get you over here to help take this off.”

Geralt growled, barely audible with the music. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arms and gave a gentle tug, lifting him from his chair. Geralt went with Jaskier’s pull and followed him back to the stage, climbing the opposite set of stairs. Jaskier pushed Geralt to the chair and Geralt dropped into it with an audible thud.

“Baby, can't you see,” Jaskier cooed, tossing a leg over Geralt’s lap, facing him. “How these clothes are fitting on me?”

Jaskier ran his hands over his own body, glancing over his shoulder to wink at the audience. They cheered and stretched to touch the stage, to fill up Jaskier’s virtual tip jar. Jaskier swung off Geralt’s lap again and touched his shoulders instead, moving behind him and sliding his hands down his torso towards his hips. Geralt growled, baring his teeth, and Jaskier chuckled between lines as he diverted his hands to run over Geralt’s thighs to his knees.

“I'm about to blow, I don't think you know!” Jaskier sang in a particularly breathy tone.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, almost close enough to be picked up by Jaskier’s mic.

Jaskier spun away and grabbed onto the pole, jumping to hook his knee around it. He took the break between verses to flip upside down and extend one leg out straight, bringing his inner thigh level with Geralt’s face. Geralt huffed, almost like an angry bull, and Jaskier flipped again, righting himself, and spun back to the ground before prowling in front of Geralt again.

“I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe!” he continued, planting his feet widely apart. “But you keep fronting, uh, sayin' what you gon' do to me!”

  
  


Jaskier slid his hands down his torso, cupping his crotch, then grabbed his thighs and bent forward, bringing his face almost level with the closest spectator in the crowd, then snapped up again and pranced around Geralt’s chair. He grabbed Geralt’s shoulder again and slid into his lap, kicked his legs up and his torso back, then straightened up and straddled Geralt’s lap facing the crowd.

“You say you're a big boy, but I can't agree,” Jaskier sang, angling his ass to grind in the air just above Geralt’s crotch. “'Cause the love you said you had ain't been put on me – I wonder if I'm just too much for you! Wonder if my kiss don't make you just – Wonder, what I got next for you – What you wanna do?”

Geralt’s hands flew up, as if to grab his waist. Jaskier leapt off his lap and pranced around the chair again. Geralt snarled, grabbing his knees instead. Jaskier grinned and blew a kiss to the crowd, launching into the next verse as he grabbed the pole and hauled himself up to the top. He swung around it, sweat letting his PVC vest glide along the metal, and spiraled down until his legs were eye-level for Geralt again. He kicked them out, then spread them and flipped upside down, opening his legs and arching them back. He did have to please the crowd as well as tease Geralt, after all. 

Jaskier dropped from the pole and let one foot slide into a split. He hit the ground and looked out to the crowd, then lifted his torso up and let it drop again onto the floor.

“C’mon, baby, loosen up my buttons, babe!” Jaskier started the last verse, rising from his split in perfect form; his ballet teachers would be proud of him. “Loosen up my buttons, babe; baby, won't you loosen up my buttons, babe?”

Geralt was scowling when Jaskier spun around to face him again. Undaunted, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s shoulders and bent down, feet still widely spread, and made direct eye contact through. Geralt blew out his breath hard, his knuckles white on his knees. Jaskier grinned; he bumped his shoulders up and down, bending his knees alternatively.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed out.

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s shoulders and jumped, holding himself up on Geralt’s shoulders, he clicked his legs out and rolled his hips in midair in front of Geralt’s stomach.

“I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe,” Jaskier crooned, maintaining eye contact with Geralt. “But you keep fronting, uh, sayin' what you gon' do to me, But I ain't seen nothing.”

Jaskier lowered his ass quickly and fell back over Geralt’s lap to face the crowd for the finale. They screamed as the screens lowered; curtain call.

Jaskier took several deep breaths, then tensed his core and sat up again, settling himself comfortably on Geralt’s lap. Geralt grabbed his hips, and his fingers dug in. Jaskier licked his lips, then grasped Geralt’s shoulder and lifted up just enough to position his crotch just over Geralt’s. He could feel Geralt’s hard cock easily under him.

“I ain’t seen nothing,” Jaskier cooed once again.

“You’re a _fucking_ tease,” Geralt growled.

One of Jaskier’s fellow dancers ducked onto the stage. “Are you two moving upstairs?” she asked.

“Are we?” Jaskier asked Geralt, lifting an eyebrow.

“I told you,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier sighed and lifted off Geralt’s lap, trailing his fingers across his shoulder. “Shame,” he said. “I suppose you can go hide by your cameras again.”

Geralt got up with another bull-like huff. Jaskier cast a satisfied smirk at Geralt’s bulge, and Geralt adjusted the front of his pants with a low growl. Jaskier’s co-worker scurried off. Geralt growled again and strode off-stage, waddling somewhat.

Jaskier bit his lower lip, watching Geralt’s ass.

“Jaskier!” 

Jaskier looked around, spotting Priss in the doorway to the dressing room. He drifted closer, smiling dreamily.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Priss demanded.

“I will tomorrow at the very least,” Jaskier said triumphantly.

#  _*_

Geralt sat hunched over the security camera station for the next few hours, controlling his breathing to keep his erection from returning. He kept himself removed and clinical for the rest of the night. As the club closed, Geralt re-entered the dressing room as Jaskier was changing out of his leather clothes.

Geralt leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Jaskier as he pulled a pair of loose pants over his round ass. Jaskier snapped the waistband against his stomach, then turned and noticed Geralt. He grinned, eyes glinting.

“We’ll talk in the car if you’re so desperate,” Geralt said.

“Shit,” Jaskier exhaled. “Yeah. Yes, let’s do that.”

Geralt gave a nod. Jaskier exhaled again, excitedly, and pulled on his shirt. He dropped into his chair and started removing paste gems from his face.

“Will this take you long?” Geralt asked gruffly.

“No,” Jaskier promised. “Just a few minutes.

Geralt nodded and turned, setting his back against the wall. He watched the ground instead, focusing on his breathing instead of the raging need to _do something_ with Jaskier. _That fucking dance –_ Geralt could barely keep himself from growling. He clenched his fists and relaxed them, glancing at Jaskier again. He’d cleared his face of the gems, and was wiping it down to remove the makeup.

Jaskier glanced up and caught his gaze, then smiled. “I think I’ll be going straight to bed tonight,” he said, smirking. “Might as well make that one step easier.”

“Hmph,” Geralt answered, looking at the ground again.

Jaskier was done in just a few minutes. Geralt grabbed his bag as Jaskier put on his coat again. Geralt waited while Jaskier kissed some of his co-workers goodbye, then walked just behind out of the rear exit to his car.

Geralt let Jaskier get his own door and tossed the gym bag into the backseat before going to the driver’s seat. When he got in, Jaskier had leaned his chair back and had his feet propped up on the dash. The hollow, clear platforms on his shoes reflected the lights from the streetlamps. Geralt started the car.

“So,” Jaskier said.

“I want to spank you,” Geralt explained immediately. “For being a _fucking_ brat.”

“I like to be spanked,” Jaskier countered smugly.

“Good,” Geralt said. “Quiet.”

Jaskier chuckled as Geralt looked over his shoulder to reverse out of the parking spot. 

“Will you fuck me tonight?” Jaskier demanded.

“I told you to be quiet,” Geralt growled, braking and changing gears. “I might.”

“Might?” Jaskier countered, then pouted visibly from the corner of Geralt’s vision. “I did all that and you say _might?_ ”

Geralt let out his breath and swept his tongue across his teeth. “Hard limits?”

“Hm,” Jaskier sighed. “Scat. Finances. Permanent marks on places that are visible in my typical work outfit. No marks to the face, _ever._ Human latrine. Doctors or nurses don’t turn me on but I suppose if you like it I could compromise.”

“Keep going,” Geralt said.

“Ah,” Jaskier exhaled. “I’ll have to really think, darling. I enjoy quite a lot.”

“Then _keep going,_ ” Geralt repeated.

“Puppy or pony play,” Jaskier offered. “Kitten, maybe, but not too strict. Oh, I don’t like receiving oral.”

“Fine,” Geralt said without questioning Jaskier.

“It’s a dysphoria thing,” Jaskier added. “I love penetration in the front and hands there are fine, just not tongues.”

“Fine,” Geralt agreed.

“How do you prefer to mark your territory?” Jaskier asked eagerly.

“Scent,” Geralt said. “Touch, clothes, cum.”

“Where do you like to come?” Jaskier asked, voice soft.

Geralt clenched his jaw, inhaling steadily. “Where do you want it?” he asked.

“Inside me,” Jaskier said. “I have an IUD.”

Geralt nodded calmly, but his cock was starting to fill up. “Then I’ll mark you on the inside,” he said lowly.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispered.

The car was filling with a honeyed scent of arousal, like a slow fog. Geralt gripped the steering wheel harder.

“Limits,” Geralt growled. “What else?”

“Fuck,” Jaskier repeated, more frustrated. “Do you want anything I’ve listed so far?”

“Not particularly,” Geralt answered. “I’ll give oral but it’s not necessary.”

“I like giving oral,” Jaskier purred.

“What do you _not_ want?” Geralt demanded.

“Fuck, um,” Jaskier sighed. “Total power exchange. I don’t want to top or dom or whatever. I don’t have the patience.”

“Fine,” Geralt said.

“Oh, I don’t share,” Jaskier said, sitting upright. “You fuck me and no one else. We can have group sex but you only come in me.”

“Deal,” Geralt agreed, lip curling at the corner.

“Gods,” Jaskier exhaled. “Can you smell me?”

Geralt inhaled deeply, then nodded.

“What do I smell like?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt sucked in another breath, rolling the air over his tongue and tasting the pheromones on the air. He’d never thought to _describe_ another’s scent in this way.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered. “Sweet. And earthy. Like – like chamomile and honey.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier echoed, softer.

Geralt clenched his jaw, breathing carefully to moderate his heart rate. Jaskier smelled more and more enticing with each second.

“A little salt,” Geralt continued. “From your sweat. Chamomile and honey. And… Tahini.”

“Really?” Jaskier answered. “That’s so specific.”

Geralt shrugged. “You asked.”

“Does it smell good?” Jaskier added.

“Fucking…” Geralt exhaled, almost growling. “Yes. It smells good.”

“How good?” Jaskier asked.

“I want to _wreck_ you,” Geralt did growl.

“Fuck,” Jaskier sighed. “Yes. _Ruin_ me, darling, fuck me as hard as you can and leave me limping for days.”

Geralt growled again and changed his grip on the steering wheel. Jaskier reached across the gap between their chairs and slid his right hand across Geralt’s thigh.

“You look so big,” Jaskier murmured. “Even like this. I want it inside me and I want it _now._ ”

Geralt slowed for a red light. “Stoplights?” he asked gruffly.

“Green,” Jaskier said right away.

“And your safeword is pudding,” Geralt added.

“Yes,” Jaskier confirmed.

“I want to tie you up and spank you,” Geralt admitted, working his jaw. “Your hands together, then to the bed frame. Put you on your front and turn your ass red with my hand.”

“Green,” Jaskier exhaled.

“Will you be sorry for being such a brat earlier?” Geralt demanded.

“Never, but you can try,” Jaskier chuckled.

Geralt worked his jaw and pursed his lips. “Fine,” he said. “After I spank you. Front or back?”

“For what?” Jaskier asked. “Fuck me in my front hole, I like that better.”

“On your front or on your back?” Geralt rephrased, growling again.

“Oh, back,” Jaskier said.

“What do you want to be called?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier sighed wistfully. “Boy,” he said firstly. “Nothing feminine. Well, except princess. I’m a pillow princess.”

Geralt nodded once. “What do I call your anatomy?”

“Cock and hole,” Jaskier said. “Or bussy. Not cunt or pussy or vagina or anything like that. I haven’t had bottom surgery, but my cock’s grown from hormones.”

“Fine,” Geralt agreed.

“Daddy,” Jaskier exhaled.

Geralt felt his cock twitch in his pants. He grunted.

“Will you fuck me tonight?” Jaskier asked. “Or is this plan for tomorrow?”  
  


Geralt clenched his jaw again, trying to think rationally. Jaskier’s hand slid further inside his thigh, close to his crotch. His _fucking scent._

“Daddy,” Jaskier breathed out again.

“Tonight,” Geralt blurted. “If that’s agreeable.”

“Oh, it’s agreeable, my darling,” Jaskier laughed.

Geralt gave a firm nod. “My room’s soundproofed,” he added. “You’d better fucking sing for me, lark.”

“Oh,” Jaskier chuckled, “I would certainly be happy to, darling Witcher.”


	10. And as you grip me like an animal that you’re about to spear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [And as you grip me like an animal that you’re about to spear](https://genius.com/The-amazing-devil-that-unwanted-animal-lyrics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**cw: smut, also parental conversations with a confused and curious pre-teen.** _
> 
> _hehe they gon fuck_
> 
> _lil quick disclaimer about the fuckening. i'm drawing on my own experience as a nonbinary/transmasc person for jaskier's preferences when it comes to sex, but not every trans AFAB person feels the same way and they're all valid! i use the term dick/cock for jaskier and when i do that, i mean the organ that is the clitoris on a cis woman. also, jaskier is on T and all, and when you do that, the clitoris enlarges, and i've heard quite a few FTM people refer to that organ then as an FTM cock. again, this is based off my preferences, and other FTM people will have different experiences/preferences so my writing doesn't reflect the whole community._

#  _10: And as you grip me like an animal that you’re about to spear_

  
  


Geralt parked the car. Jaskier released his seat belt, his hands shaking a little.

“Come on,” Geralt said.

Jaskier got out of the car. He opened the second door, but Geralt was already grabbing his bag.

“Come on,” Geralt repeated, shutting the car doors. “It’s late.”

“I’m not tired,” Jaskier insisted, joining Geralt on the other side of the car. “I could stay awake for another night.”

Geralt shot him a sideways look, one eyebrow and the corner of his lip lifted. “That won’t be necessary. Boy.”

Jaskier shivered and grinned. He grabbed Geralt’s elbow and leaned into him, pressing his cheek against his shoulder.

“You listen so well, my Witcher,” he said.

“Hm,” Geralt answered, pressing the call button for the elevator.

“Call me more pet names,” Jaskeir demanded.

The elevator doors opened. Geralt pushed Jaskier inside with a gentle hand on the small of his back.

“If you earn it,” he said.

Jaskier pouted. He stood on his toes and hooked his arms around Geralt’s neck, sticking his lower lip out and making his eyes big and round. Geralt looked at him and lifted an eyebrow. Jaskier scrunched up his nose and pouted harder.

“Geralt!” he whined.

The elevator lurched. Jaskier stumbled, but Geralt caught his waist and put him back on his feet. The doors opened again.

“Go,” Geralt said.

Jaskier huffed as he stepped off the elevator. Geralt grasped the back of his neck, hand firm, and that did a variety of things to Jaskier’s stomach and dick. He let out his breath hard. Geralt steered him to the apartment front door, then through it. 

“My room,” Geralt said, shutting the front door. “Go on.”

Jaskier lingered. Geralt put his keys down on the table by the door, then swung his arm and he swatted Jaskier on the ass. Jaskier yelped and Geralt put a finger to his lips.

“Go to my room,” Geralt told him again.

Jaskier was feeling a lot of things in a lot of places and he scurried off. He felt excited and jogged a little, glancing eagerly over his shoulder. Geralt was just behind him, and as Jaskier trotted away, a predator’s smile curled Geralt’s lip.

Jaskier’s heart rate picked up. He grabbed the doorknob and rushed into Geralt’s bedroom. He shut the door again, just in time to cut off the sound of Geralt striding down the hallway. Jaskier pressed against the door, holding it shut, and yelped a little when the doorknob rattled.

“Jaskier,” he heard, just barely.

Jaskier let go of the door and took several steps back. Geralt almost threw it open, grabbing it again at the last second before it could hit the wall. 

“Hm,” Geralt rumbled, stepping inside. “What did you think that would do?”

“Well, a few things,” Jaskier started. “Primarily, rile you up –”

Geralt dropped Jaskier’s bag and grabbed him instead. Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt’s neck and hiked a knee up and around his hip as Geralt spun them around and pinned Jaskier against the wall.

“Brat,” Geralt murmured.

“What of it?” Jaskier chuckled.

Geralt bared his teeth in a feral smile. “Don’t you know you should never run from a Witcher?” 

Jaskier inhaled sharply and smiled back, letting his head fall back against the wall and exposing his throat. “I think I heard something similar,” he said. “Only, I heard you should only run from a Witcher if you want to be caught.”

Geralt let out a soft huff. His tongue slipped forward and swept across the points of his fangs before touching his lip. Jaskier fixed his gaze there, then bit his own lip.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” Jaskier asked.

“Hm,” Geralt rumbled back. “I thought I might send you off to get ready for bed.”

“Oh?” Jaskier replied. “You wouldn’t be sending me to bed without dessert, would you, darling?”

Geralt smiled again, baring his sharp teeth, then he pulled Jaskier off the wall and put him back on his feet. “Go get ready for bed,” he ordered.

“What if I want a kiss first?” Jaskier asked.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier stuck out his lips and shut his eyes, waiting. Geralt growled again, then he grasped Jaskier’s jaw and tipped his head back. Geralt’s nose brushed his ear, sniffing, then his lips pressed under Jaskier’s jaw against his pulse. Jaskier let out his breath hard, excitement kicking up in his groin again.

“Go,” Geralt growled a third time.

He released Jaskeir and gave him a little push. Jaskier took a few steps back, blinking, then composed himself. He gave Geralt a smile and blew a kiss, then turned and stepped into the bathroom.

Jaskier did a little victory dance once out of sight, then set about washing up. He washed his face and went through the rest of his skincare routine, then wiped himself down with a wet cloth. He made sure to freshen up his ass, just to be considerate. Then he combed through his hair with his fingers and stepped out of the bathroom still naked.

Geralt was standing at the foot of the bed, uncoiling a rope. He looked up and his gaze snapped to Jaskier’s chest first, then trailed down his body. Jaskier gave Geralt an inviting smile, stepped forward, then did a twirl for him.

“Come here,” Geralt said gruffly.

Jaskier walked across the room the same way he would walk in the club; a sway in his hips, slow, deliberate steps, hands loose at his sides. He looked up at Geralt as he stopped just in front of him and raised his eyebrows.

“Well?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt took Jaskier’s elbow, then lifted his arm and grasped his wrist. He calmly wrapped a loop of rope around it and pulled the tails through. He grabbed Jaskier’s other wrist and tossed the tails across it, then pulled them back through the first loop and tightened it. Jaskier interlocked his fingers. Geralt split the tails and wrapped them around each of Jaskier’s wrists until the slack was used up.

“Bend over,” Geralt said.

Jaskier, heart in his throat, bent over the foot of the bed. Geralt kicked at his ankle lightly and Jaskeir spread his feet apart. Jaskier glanced over his shoulder, but Geralt grabbed his hair and forced him to look forward.

“Said I’d spank you,” Geralt said. “I’m using my hand. I’m going to say a number and you’ll say red if you can’t take that many, green if you can. Ten.”

“Green,” Jaskier said at once. “Geralt –”

“Fifteen,” Geralt added.

Jaskier caught his breath, then smiled. “Green,” he agreed again.

“Twenty,” Geralt said.

“Green,” Jaskier answered slowly.

“Thirty,” Geralt continued.

“Red,” Jaskier replied.

“Twenty,” Geralt repeated. “Head forward. You’re going to count aloud and say _thank you, sir_ after each one.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Jaskier purred.

Geralt grabbed his ass with both hands. Jaskier inhaled sharply, pushing his hips back. Geralt squeezed his ass first, kneading it, and Jaskier let out his breath; Geralt’s hands were just so big, it felt like he could cup all of Jaskier’s butt in one palm, and Jaskier had worked hard to get his ass fat and round.

Geralt then swatted his ass, just catching it with the tips of his fingers. 

“Is that one or are you warming up?” Jaskier asked.

“Warming up,” Geralt answered gruffly.

Jaskier bounced his knees, shaking his ass. “Go on, then.”  
  


Geralt growled behind him. His fingers then dug into Jaskier’s butt, squeezing hard. Jaskier sighed happily and pushed his hips back again, pleased with the feeling of Geralt’s blunt nails cutting into his skin. Geralt gave his ass a few more light swats, just taps really, and Jaskier almost lifted his head to look over his shoulder and see his butt bouncing. He knew full well he had a satisfyingly bouncy ass. 

“Are you having fun?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt pulled his hands back. He did nothing for a moment and Jaskier turned his head as minutely as he could and still peek.

Geralt drew his hand back and let it whack into the meat of Jaskier’s left cheek with a resounding clap that nearly outshone Jaskier’s yelp.

“What are you waiting for?” Geralt asked.

“Oh,” Jaskier remembered. “One spank, thank you, Daddy.”

Geralt grunted. He cupped Jaskier’s ass and gave it a jiggle, then drew his hand back and laid into him one more time.

“Two, thank you, Daddy,” Jaskier purred.

Geralt didn’t speak again. He laid even smacks to each of Jaskier’s asscheeks, responding only in grunts to Jaskier’s _thank you, Daddy’_ s. At ten, he stopped and asked if Jaskier could take ten more.

“Fuck, yes, I can,” Jaskier insisted.

Geralt finished the set. Jaskier was a puddle across the bed, his ass stinging from delicious, sensual pain. Geralt pushed a hand into his hair and gripped, but didn’t pull yet.

“I’ll say something, you’ll tell me red, yellow, or green,” he said. “I want to pull you up by your hair.”

“Green,” Jaskier answered eagerly.

Geralt yanked on his fistful of hair. Jaskier shouted as Geralt lifted him up, hastily engaging his core to go with the tug, and Geralt pulled him right into his chest. He put Jaskier’s sore ass against the front of his jeans and pressed against him, erection palpable through the stiff fabric.

Geralt slid his hand down Jaskier’s front to his crotch, then stopped with his fingers just barely touching Jaskier’s trimmed pubic hair.

“I can touch your cock?” Geralt requested, as if he were asking Jaskier to pass the salt.

“Green, darling,” Jaskier answered at once, tipping his head against Geralt’s neck. “Very green.”

Geralt slid his hand down the next few inches and pressed two fingers past Jaskier’s folds to cup his straining dick. Jaskier shuddered, clenching his hole on nothing.

“I want you to make me come with your hands and mouth,” Geralt said near Jaskier’s ear. “Then I’ll fuck you.”  
  


“But –” Jaskier started, a frown curling his lips.

“What?”

“I want your dick in me,” Jaskier said. “If you come –”

Geralt’s lips pressed to his jaw. “It won’t slow me down, boy,” he murmured.

Jaskier’s cock jumped against Geralt’s fingers and he moaned. He nodded, then added: “Green, green.”

“Good boy,” Geralt said softly.

“Gods,” Jaskier squeaked. 

“Do you like praise, lark?” Geralt asked him. 

Jaskier nodded quickly. Geralt cupped his jaw with his free hand and pulled his face close, almost bringing their lips together. Jaskier rolled his hips against Geralt’s hand and moaned at the stimulation.

“Are you a desperate boy that squirms until he gets what he wants?” Geralt asked. 

“Yes, darling,” Jaskier whined. “Call me desperate, Daddy, call me a slut, a whore, I like it.”

“You didn’t mention that in the car,” Geralt replied.

“One brain cell,” Jaskier described himself. “Sorry.”

“Hm,” Geralt answered. “What else did you fail to mention, boy?”

Jaskier whined. He bucked his hips, fucking against Geralt’s hand, and gasped. Geralt yanked his hand away from his dick and Jaskier cried out at the loss.

“Daddy –” he gasped.

Geralt lifted Jaskier off his knees and tossed him onto the bed on his back. Jaskier bounced, then scrambled farther up to sit against the headboard. He tried to reach between his legs to touch himself, but he couldn’t get his hands at the right angle with them bound palm-to-palm.

“You don’t touch yourself or give yourself stimulation without my permission,” Geralt said, pulling his shirt from his jeans. “Color?”  
  


Jaskier pouted, but his cock throbbed. “Green,” he mumbled pathetically.

Geralt strode around the bed and grabbed Jaskier’s jaw with wet fingers. “Speak up, boy,” he demanded. “Color.”  
  


“Green,” Jaskier whined, pressing into Geralt’s hand. “I’m so horny, Daddy, I can’t help it.”

“Hm,” Geralt responded. “I can tell.”

Geralt stripped his shirt off. Jaskier’s eyes went wide; his breath was stolen from his chest. Geralt was built, he knew that, but he hadn't expected the scars.

Geralt was covered in them; slashes, rips, gashes, rippled bumps of pink tissue on Geralt’s pale skin. His body hair was as white as that on his head, thick between his pecs and thicker going into the front of his jeans. The scars lay under his white hair, making everything stand out more.

“Geralt,” Jaskier exhaled, reaching up and brushing his fingers against a scar on Geralt’s ribs.

“Comes with the trade,” Geralt said dismissively. “Don’t focus on them if they bother you.”

Jaskier glanced up. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Geralt grunted and nodded. Jaskier repositioned to kneel on the bed and hooked his index fingers in one of Geralt’s belt loops, then used that to brace himself as he leaned in and pressed his lips to the knotted scar on Geralt’s ribs. Jaskier let his lips drift across his skin, feeling for the ribs, and counting how close the scar was to his lungs. Too close, in his opinion. He moved to the next nearest scar and kissed it, lingering over it, then jumped to the next. 

Geralt’s hand slid into his hair. Jaskier continued what he was doing, adding tongue to the dips of Geralt’s muscles and along the longer scars.

Geralt gripped his hair tighter.

“Open my trousers,” he growled.

Jaskier sat back on his heels to release Geralt’s belt; it was difficult with his hands tied together, but he got it. Once it was out of the way, Jaskier got in close and used his teeth to release the button and zipper.

Geralt gave his hair a tug. Jaskier, excited and cock probably quivering as much as his hole, pulled down Geralt’s boxers.

Geralt’s dick sprang up just like a porno. Pre-cum flew from the tip and hit Jaskier in the face. He gasped, blinking, then settled the waistband of his boxers beneath his balls and took a second just _admire_ the piece of work in front of him.

It was fucking massive. Jaskier tilted his head to the side and held his hands up to it to compare; it was twice as long, easily. The foreskin was pulled back partially, exposing a very round head and a weeping tip. Jaskier pulled his palms apart and spat into them, rubbed them together for a second, then wrapped them around Geralt’s shaft. He could interlock his fingertips, but just barely.

“Gods,” Jaskier whimpered.

“Color?” Geralt asked.

“Green!” Jaskier insisted. “It’s beautiful, Geralt. I’m never letting you out of bed again.”  
  


“Hm,” Geralt responded. “Just because I live in the same place I work doesn’t mean I don’t have dues to pay, boy.”

“Don’t care,” Jaskier said. “We’ll film us and sell the videos. We’ll make a fortune.”

Geralt snorted. Jaskier didn’t care. He ran his hands up and down Geralt’s shaft, then pulled it down and opened his mouth. Jaskier groaned as he slid the tip into his mouth; Geralt’s pre tasted sweet, not bitter as most men did. His skin had salt to it, but otherwise tasted clean and fresh. Jaskier closed his lips around the head and moaned again as he filled his mouth. Above him, Geralt growled and his hand tightened in Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier remembered his orders. He moved his hands again, making a cradle of them with the heels of his palms pressed together by the ropes. He bobbed his head, lips straining at the corners to accept Geralt’s girth, but he would gladly take split lips for this beauty of a cock. 

“Fuck,” Geralt growled, and that’s all the warning Jaskier had before his mouth was being flooded.

Jaskier almost choked, but swallowed hastily. Geralt came _so much,_ that even though Jaskier did his best not to waste a drop, it spilled out over his mouth. Jaskier’s head was hazy. He let go of Geralt’s dick to wipe his chin, then licked his hands clean.

Geralt knocked him over, flat on his back. Jaskier grinned up at him as Geralt shoved his jeans and pants off, kicking them away, then climbed over him. That monster cock swayed in the air between Jaskier’s knees, knocking against his thighs. Jaskier stuck his legs up and out, angling his hips up.

“You’ve got one hell of a mouth,” Geralt growled.

“Daddy, kiss me,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt smashed their lips together. Jaskier cupped Geralt’s jaw with his wet, sticking hands, and Geralt grabbed his hair again to pull his head back and expose his throat. Jaskier licked his lips as Geralt kissed aggressively down his neck, his other hand sliding underneath Jaskier’s left pec and cupping his top surgery scar.

“We match,” Jaskier mumbled.

Geralt kissed the scar. “Yours were intentional,” he said. “Saved your life, I imagine. Mine… They don’t match.”

“I don’t care,” Jaskier said. “I think they’re sexy, Daddy.”

Geralt snorted; he released Jaskier’s hair and cupped his waist instead. “I’m going to put my cock in you,” he declared. “Color?”

“So fucking green,” Jaskier gasped. “Put it in me, Daddy, I wanted it yesterday –”

Geralt slid two fingers into Jaskier’s hole. Jaskier bit his lip and tensed up, rocking onto Geralt’s fingers. Geralt kissed his navel and stroked his hip gently, soothingly. Geralt pulled his fingers free, then filled Jaskier’s hole again with four.

“You’re fucking tight,” Geralt growled.

“I’ll strip the skin from your dick,” Jaskier insisted.

Geralt bit Jaskier’s hip. Jaskier shouted, arching his hips up, and Geralt covered the bite mark with his lips, sucking and undulating his tongue across it. Jaskier groaned, hands almost moving to palm his dick; he was only stopped by the tug of the rope on his wrists. He lifted his arms, putting them above his head, and rolled his hips onto Geralt’s fingers again. Geralt grabbed his hip, then let go immediately and ran his thumb under Jaskier’s cock. 

“Shit, Daddy!” Jaskier shouted in a whine, clenching his hole as hard as he can. “Please, please, I’ll do anything, put your cock in me, I wanna come, I wanna come on your cock, Daddy, please –!”

“Fuck,” Geralt growled emphatically, yanking his fingers free.

Jaskier looked down his body, panting, to watch Geralt fist his dick and hold it steady. Jaskier tenses his thighs, relaxes them, and moans as Geralt rubbed the tip of his dick down Jaskier’s folds to his hole.

“In me, in me –!” he begged.

“Fucking –” Geralt spat out. “Shit!”

He fit the tip against Jaskier’s hole and pushed. Jaskier gasped, threw his head back as his eyes rolled up. Geralt grabbed his hips with both hands and pushed in slowly, painfully so, giving him barely an inch.

“Daddy,” Jaskier breathed out. “Oh, it’s perfect, it’s amazing, your cock – it’s – fuck, it’s glorious, give me all of it, fill me up, fuck me sore, I don’t want to walk straight for a fucking _week!_ ”

“You’ll take what I give you at the pace I give it to you,” Geralt growled.

“Daddy!” Jaskier whined, tightening up his hole.

Geralt growled again, harder, louder. He _pulled out._

“Oh, fuck you!” Jaskier gasped. “Put it back, give it back, I’ll flip us over and take it myself if you don’t give it back –”

“I’d like to see you try,” Geralt grunted before grinning, teeth bared ferally, touching himself with a firm hand.

Jaskier bared his teeth, copying Geralt. He wrapped his legs around Geralt’s hips and _yanked_ with all his core. He knocked Geralt off balance and Jaskier used his hands to shove up, shove Geralt down, and he got Geralt onto his back and ended up in his lap.

“Don’t challenge me, my dear Witcher,” Jaskier said, panting as he braced himself on Geralt’s chest.

Geralt grinned again, his fangs catching the light. “Maybe I will,” he said, settling his hands on Jaskier’s hips. “You still don’t get more than I give you.”

Jaskier stuck his tongue out and tried to grab Geralt’s dick with his bound hands. Geralt used his grip on Jaskier’s hips to position him, but held him just too high up to sink onto his cock.

“Oh, fuck you,” Jaskier moaned. “Please? Please, Daddy, I want it, I _need_ it –”

“Am I in charge or are you?” Geralt asked. “Tell me.”

Jaskier whined. He wanted dick, but he wanted to be dominated.

“Be a good boy,” Geralt purred.

“Daddy,” Jaskier whined again. “You, fuck, Daddy, fuck me, please?”

Geralt flipped them over again. Jaskier let his legs hang open and stuck his lower lip out, eyes big and round again. Geralt gripped his dick again and fit it against Jaskier’s hole, then pushed in at a glacial pace once more.

“Gods,” Jaskier whimpered. “It’s so big – it’s so good, Daddy, it’s so big, I want all of it!”

“Patience,” Geralt insisted, breath hard and heavy.

Jaskier continued to whine. Geralt didn’t speed up. Maybe a minute or ten years later, Geralt got himself seated halfway into Jaskier’s hole. He felt massive, even if it wasn’t the biggest thing Jaskier had ever taken.

“So fucking tight –” Geralt growled. “Does it hurt?”

“‘S good,” Jaskier insisted. “Please, I can take all of it.”

Geralt growled. He rolled his hips slowly, just rocking his cock into Jaskier’s hole, but it still felt so good. Jaskier strained to not touch himself, impatient and so close to coming already.

“Daddy –” he whined.

Geralt slammed into him. Jaskier shouted, eyes rolling back again, and he threw his bound wrists over Geralt’s neck to grab his hair. Geralt stopped, panting, and his cock pulsed deep inside Jaskier.

“Daddy –?” Jaskier repeated, egging him on.

Geralt growled. He caught Jaskier in a harsh kiss, then started rolling his hips. Slow at first, still enough to make Jaskier gasp, then faster. 

“Fuck – Fuck me!” Jaskier panted against Geralt’s mouth. “Hard, give it to me, come inside me, knot me, Daddy, mark me –”

“Can you come like this?” Geralt asked, breath heavy.

“Touch me –?” Jaskier begged.

Geralt reached between them and cupped Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier shouted again, shoving his head back, and Geralt attacked his neck with kisses. He stroked Jaskier’s cock _expertly,_ not touching it in the manner most cis people touched an FTM cock, treating it purely like the clitoris, but pumping it with his fingers and thumb. Jaskier was so close already.

“Daddy, yes, yes,” Jaskier babbled. “Fuck me sore, knot me, come hard inside me, I want to drip from you, I want you to come in me –”

“You want to be knotted?” Geralt growled.

“Yes,” Jaskier insisted. “I want it. Stretch me out with it, leave me loose and messy, I want it so fucking bad, Daddy –”

Geralt growled, teeth scraping Jaskier’s pulse. Jaskier’s pleasure reached a _brand new_ height, and then he came harder than he’d ever done in his life. He shouted, mind blank but he’d probably called out _Daddy,_ and Geralt growled as he held Jaskier’s cock and fucked him through his orgasm. Seconds or maybe minutes later, Jaskier was still twitching, Geralt grunted at a louder, higher pitch and his cock _expanded._

Jaskier had played with knotting toys before. They had been _nothing._ Geralt’s cock swelled in an instant, pressed into everything, put a very particular pressure on his G-spot, and at the same time, Jaskier could feel him spilling inside his hole. Geralt pumped his cock one more time and Jaskier just sucked in a breath as he practically came a second time.

“Gods,” Jaskier whimpered.

Geralt released the ropes on Jaskier’s wrist but tugging on one part, then picked him up. Jaskier gasped as his knot tugged at his hole, but Geralt repositioned them and sat down with Jaskier, blankets pulled back. Then he wriggled until they were laying down and cupped the back of Jaskier’s head to hold it against his neck. Jaskier let out his breath and nuzzled into Geralt’s throat.

“It’ll be almost an hour until it goes down,” Geralt said. “We can get up then. There’s water on the bedside. Are you thirsty?”

Jaskier shook his head. “Sleepy,” he murmured.

Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s hair, surprisingly soft. Jaskier smiled and kissed Geralt’s throat.

“Am I yours now?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Geralt answered. “Mine.”

“Mine,” Jaskier repeated sleepily.

Geralt began petting his hair. Jaskier fell asleep that way.

#  _*_

Geralt woke to a knock on the door; small hands, rapping against it twice in a soft manner. He snorted hair from his nose and looked over at the clock. It was almost six, and a school day.

“Shit,” he muttered, detangling from Jaskier.

“No,” Jaskier mumbled, though his heart rate was still slow and his eyes shut. “Gimme potatoes…”

Geralt surmised Jaskier was talking in his sleep. He pulled away and covered Jaskier again with the blankets. His dick was wet and half-hard and there was a mess on his thighs. Geralt hastily threw on a bathrobe and opened the door a crack to face Ciri.

“I’m hungry,” Ciri announced fussily. “Jaskier’s not on the couch.”

“I’ll be out in a second,” Geralt assured her. “Jaskier’s in here.”

Ciri’s eyes got very wide very quickly. “In there?” she said, standing on her toes as if to see over Geralt’s shoulder.

“One moment,” Geralt insisted, shutting the door again.

He hurried to the bathroom and got a cloth wet with cold water. He wiped up his thighs with it, then covered his dick with it. He winced at the unpleasant temperature, but it worked rapidly. Geralt wiped himself down once more, then tossed the rag into the tub to dry off before leaving the bathroom again. He threw on pants and a shirt, then left the bathrobe on the end of the bed. 

Ciri was still standing outside the door, her eyes wide. Geralt grunted in her direction.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked, heading to the kitchen.

“Jaskier’s in your room!” Ciri gasped, running up to Geralt’s side to grab his hand. “And you weren’t dressed!”

“Hm,” Geralt answered.

“Geralt!” Ciri hissed.

Geralt opened the fridge and took out a container of Eskel’s homemade yogurt, looking for sausages. “How much time until Yennefer gets here? Do you want a full Cintran breakfast or should I just make you an egg sandwich?”

“Jaskier!” Ciri spluttered.

Geralt turned around to look at her, putting the yogurt on the counter. “What do you want to eat?” he asked again plainly.

Ciri stuck out her bottom lip. “Omelette with spinach and mushrooms and sausage.”

“Okay,” Geralt said, going back to the fridge.

“Why were you sleeping with Jaskier?” Ciri asked.

“Have you considered I was going for a shower?” Geralt countered.

“If you were, Jaskier wouldn’t be in there because they’ve been sleeping on the couch!” Ciri said. “He’s been sleeping on the couch, I mean.”  
  


“I’m not sure if their pronouns are the same as yesterday,” Geralt answered, “I’ve heard it’s best to default to they/them when you’re not sure.”

“They’ve been sleeping on the couch,” Ciri said. “But they’re in your room now.”

Geralt started cracking eggs into a bowl to scramble. He shrugged.

“Are you guys –” Ciri asked.

“Alright,” Geralt said, carrying on preparing her omelette. “You know how Eskel and Lambert belong to each other in a way that’s different from the other Witchers?”

“They’re mates,” Ciri said. “Which is so confusing because I call Dara my mate and we do _not_ kiss.”

“No, it’s different with other people,” Geralt agreed. “Our mates are life partners, but in a very special way. Do you want cheese?”

“No,” Ciri said. “I think I might be lactose-intolerant.”

Geralt nodded. He fetched the sausage, spinach, and mushrooms, and set out chopping them up. He’d put the sausages in the pan first to brown them before adding the egg.

“So, what?” Ciri continued. “You and Jaskier?”

Geralt pulled a knife from a magnet on the side of the fridge and turned around with his cutting board and omelette ingredients so he could face Ciri while he explained.

“Lambert belongs to Eskel,” he started again. “Eskel belongs to Lambert in return, but in a different way. Lambert goes to Eskel to get what he needs; his meals, his clothes, things like that. Eskel provides those things.”

Ciri blinked several times. “I hadn't noticed…” she muttered. “Does Eskel _dress_ Lambert? Like a doll?”

“Not quite like that,” Geralt said. “Eskel might pick out what Lambert wears, I don’t know. Eskel buys his clothes, is what I mean.”

“Okay,” Ciri said. “Wait… Like a sugar daddy?”

Geralt looked up, eyes narrowed. “What do you know about those?” he asked.

Ciri shrugged. “They’re weird old men that buy things for young women,” she said. “I think they’re creepy.”  
  


“Keep thinking that way,” Geralt told her, gesturing with his knife. “For at least another seven or eight years.”

“Then why is Eskel Lambert’s sugar daddy?” Ciri asked, eyes narrowed.

“Eskel isn’t Lambert’s sugar daddy,” Geralt answered quickly. “That’s – That’s something different. Eskel and Lambert are _mates._ ”

“Are you telling me you’re becoming Jaskier’s sugar daddy?” Ciri countered.

“No,” Geralt explained. “Jaskier and I – hopefully – are going to be like Eskel and Lambert.”

“Why can’t you just say you’re dating?” Ciri asked.

“Well,” Geralt exhaled. “It’s a bit more than just dating. For Witchers.”

“But Jaskier’s not a Witcher,” Ciri said. “So, you two are dating?”

“Yes,” Geralt said plainly. “Dating. Yes.”

“You could’ve just said that,” Ciri said, sitting back on her stool and folding her arms. “So, does dating mean you have sleepovers? Should I not have sleepovers with Dara anymore?”

“No, that’s not dating,” Geralt said quickly. “You and Dara are perfectly fine to continue spending time together.”

Ciri narrowed her eyes. “You and Jaskier had _sex,_ didn’t you?” she accused.

“Sex is a very normal thing for adults to do,” Geralt defended himself. “Not that it’s any of your business if we did or not.”

“One of the boys at school said he’d like to have sex with me,” Ciri then said. “I don’t think I want to.”

Geralt blinked several times and took a deep breath. “That’s a perfectly reasonable attitude to have,” he said calmly. “This… boy… When he asked, did he make you feel uncomfortable?”

“Yeah,” Ciri said. “I punched him in the face.”

Geralt nodded, satisfied. “That’s an appropriate response to sexual harassment,” he said. “In the future, please keep me up to date with any advances similar to that so I may speak to the kid’s parents.”

“Sure,” Ciri agreed. “Geralt?”

“Hm?” Geralt answered, resuming his chopping of the spinach and mushrooms.

“I think I might be a lesbian,” Ciri said.

“Alright,” Geralt agreed. “Same goes for advances from people that aren’t males.”

“Cool,” Ciri said, reaching across to grab a mushroom slice. “There’s this girl in my class that I think likes me. I want to ask her out.”

Geralt considered it. “You’re almost thirteen,” he said. “I’m not sure if it’s wise for you to start dating at your age, but if you’d like to invite the girl to spend more time together, I or Yennefer or any of your uncles would certainly accompany you on an age-appropriate outing.”

“I don’t want a chaperone!” Ciri complained. “You don’t have to have a chaperone with Jaskier!”

“Jaskier and I are adults,” Geralt reminded her.

“I’m almost thirteen!” Ciri defended herself.

Geralt shrugged. “And?”

He dumped the mushrooms and spinach into the scrambled eggs, then turned to get the stove ready. Ciri groaned behind him as Geralt put a pan on a medium-sized burner.

“You don’t chaperone me and Dara,” Ciri grumbled.

“You and Dara aren’t dating,” Geralt said, adding olive oil. “It’s for the best, kid.”

“What if I told you she’s just a friend and invited her over?” Ciri asked.

“I’d be disappointed you lied to me and probably have to punish you,” Geralt said, turning back to start slicing the sausage. “You can invite her here, Ciri, that’s not a problem.”

“What if I want to have sex with her?” Ciri countered.

“You’re a little young,” Geralt told her. “I’m not too sure I’m qualified to say if you’re allowed to have sex yet.”

“You’re my guardian!” Ciri groaned.

“Did Yennefer tell you what sex is?” Geralt asked.

“Sort of,” Ciri grumbled. “I think there’s more to it she’ll tell me when I’m older. She showed me a PowerPoint on vaginas and told me what the clitoris does.”

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Well. I advise you to treat sex as something you do when you’re very close to the second party, and to wait a few years before you think about doing it with someone else.”

“You can do it by yourself?” Ciri questioned.

Geralt shrugged. “Masturbation?” he offered. “Yennefer told you about that?”  
  


“Yeah,” Ciri muttered, finally going red and looking away. “Fine. Can I have girls over and have my door shut?”

“Yes,” Geralt said. “Not sure why not.”

“You won’t freak out that we’ll have sex behind your back?” Ciri asked shrewdly.

“No?” Geralt replied. “This conversation is getting a little specific, kid. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“No,” Ciri said. “Well, one of my friends, she had sex with her boyfriend – they’re two years up, I think they’re fifteen – and her parents grounded her for a month _and_ made her breakup with her boyfriend.”

“Ah,” Geralt said. “Well. That’s a pretty extreme reaction and I’m not sure it was warranted, but I will promise that if you do have sex, you don’t need to tell me about it. You could, I mean, so I know not to bother you, and if you want advice – And you’d need materials to keep safe –”

“Okay, okay, I’m not actually having sex!” Ciri groaned.

“When you’re ready, I’ll get you some dental dams,” Geralt told her. “And whatever else might be required for safe lesbian sex. I’ll have to ask Yennefer. Or you could just get them from Yennefer.”

“Right,” Ciri muttered, covering her head with her arms. “I’m not doing it for a very long time. I’ve just decided that. It’s too complicated.”

“It is complicated,” Geralt agreed. “You’re very mature to admit that. I recommend waiting until you’re fifteen or sixteen to explore anything sexual with another person.”

“Alright,” Ciri mumbled.

“And that person needs to be within a year of your age,” Geralt added immediately.

Ciri raised her hand and made an OK sign. Geralt surmised she was done with the conversation and picked up the cutting board to put the sausages in the pan.

“Thanks for talking to me,” Ciri said behind him. “You’re… A pretty cool guardian.”  
  


“Thank you,” Geralt answered. “You’re… a _cool_ ward.”

“Thanks,” Ciri repeated.

Geralt hummed and went to wash his hands. Ciri slumped over the counter, her head turned towards him. Geralt dried his hands off and went back to the stove to keep the slices of sausage moving.

“Geralt?” Ciri started.

Geralt grunted. He moved the bowl of egg mixture closer.

“If you and Jaskier just started dating,” Ciri started again. “I mean, we’ve only known them about a month?”

Geralt turned partway towards Ciri, still watching the sausages, and grunted again.

“I like Jaskier,” Ciri said. “Are they going to stay with us?”

“I hope so,” Geralt answered softly, turning away. “As I said. For Witchers, a mate is… We know sooner when we’ve met a compatible mate.”

“Jaskier knows that?” Ciri asked.

“I’ve explained it,” Geralt confirmed.

“Okay,” Ciri said. “I’m going to ask them to redecorate the apartment, then.”

Geralt snorted, shaking his head bemusedly. “What’s wrong with our place?” he asked, gesturing out. “It’s perfectly functional.”

“Geralt, the drywall isn’t painted!” Ciri complained. “The floors are always freezing!”

“You have carpet and your room is painted,” Geralt answered.

“And it’s decorated for a five-year-old!” Ciri continued. “Geralt. It’s so pink. It gives me a headache sometimes.”  
  


Geralt considered that. “Well, if you really don’t like it, we can change it.”  
  


“Everything,” Ciri insisted. “The whole apartment.”

Geralt huffed. “I’ll think about it,” he said, flipping the sausages.

The front door opened then. Ciri sat up as Yennefer entered, tucking her sunglasses into the collar of her blouse.

“Good morning, darlings,” Yennefer greeted. “Geralt, you look like you slept.”

“With Jaskier!” Ciri said immediately.

“Cirilla,” Geralt groaned.

“My, my!” Yennefer replied, giving Geralt an impressed smile. “That happened a lot quicker than I thought it would!”

“You knew!” Ciri gasped.

Yennefer chuckled and patted Ciri’s cheek. “Darling, I was married to that brute for a few hundred years. I picked up a thing or two along the way.”

“Hey, how did you know you’re a lesbian?” Ciri changed the subject.

Geralt poured the eggs into the pan as Yennefer laughed. Yennefer, still chuckling, crossed the kitchen and opened the coffee cabinet.

“I think I need a good cup of coffee first,” she said. “Geralt, you ground the beans I bought you.”

“Yes,” Geralt said. “It’s easier than grinding them every time.”

Yennefer sighed in disappointment. “I don’t know what I expected,” she said, taking down a container of coffee grounds.

“I think I’m a lesbian,” Ciri announced.

“Very good!” Yennefer answered. “We are superior and deserve to dominate the world.”

Geralt chuckled. He gave Ciri’s omelette a shake, watching it firm up.

“Now,” Yennefer said, preparing a pot of coffee. “As you know, I was wed to your guardian for a few hundred years. I met him when I was a few hundred years old, but _he_ was much younger, perhaps sixty or eighty.”

“Sixty-two,” Geralt said.

“Sixty-two,” Yennefer agreed. “We spent quite a lot of time together and after a few decades, I told him to marry me.”

“Told, not asked,” Geralt confirmed.

“Yes,” Yennefer said. “I had, at the time, thought he was the best I could do when it came to life partners. I was acquainted with women and I had relationships with them, but I was still deceived by the concept of traditional marriage; that there must be a man involved!”

“Ew,” Ciri said.

“Very much so!” Yennefer answered her. “Now, Geralt and I got married, we lived together for a very long time, and I very much enjoyed being with him. He’s very easy to get along with when you don’t mind how little he speaks.”

“Hmph,” Geralt interjected.

“And sometimes, you want that in a relationship,” Yennefer added. “I liked that he shut up and did what I told him.”

“He still does what you tell him,” Ciri giggled.

“Except let the coffee beans stay in whole bean form,” Yennefer added.

“It’s inconvenient!” Geralt insisted.

Yennefer patted his shoulder. “Yes, dear. Now. Throughout the years of our marriage, I found Geralt tolerable in the looks department, and no more than that. While I enjoyed his company, I did not enjoy the more intimate parts of our marriage. It was very boring.”

“You say that as if we fucked very often,” Geralt muttered under his breath.

“Boring!” Yennefer answered him. “I did not find Geralt exciting in any fashion, and I thought that was merely the norm! That all women found their husbands enjoyable to spend time with and thoroughly uninteresting in a sexual manner.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” Ciri said.

“You’re young, you’ll figure it out,” Yennefer answered her. “It is not something you have to concern with yourself just yet. Now, about a century ago, I discovered that it was _not,_ in fact, normal to find your husband boring. Around the same time, queer rights became prominent in the public eye. My Triss came out to me as a transwoman, and told me she considered herself a lesbian. I then realized that it was possible to feel no sexual attraction to men whatsoever.”

“And you divorced Geralt and married Triss,” Ciri said.

“Within the year,” Yennefer confirmed with a smile.

“Was Yennefer your mate?” Ciri asked in Geralt’s direction.

“No, not every Witcher has a mate,” Geralt answered. “And we don’t always have just one.”

“Geralt says Jaskier is his mate,” Ciri added.

“Yes, I believe so,” Yennefer agreed.

“Geralt?” Ciri called. “Are you gay or bi or pan?”

Geralt shrugged, preparing to flip Ciri’s omelette. “I have little preference. I like who I like.”

“Huh,” Ciri answered.

“A label isn’t required,” Yennefer added.

“Cool,” Ciri said. “Is Jaskier going to join us?”

“I expect they’ll sleep for a while longer,” Geralt answered. “We were up late.”

“Were you?” Yennefer answered, chuckling.

“Jaskier’s shift ends at four in the morning,” Geralt replied tonelessly.

“Fair,” Yennefer said, but she caught Geralt’s eye and was still smirking.

Geralt ignored her. He flipped Ciri’s omelette, waiting with a spatula to fold it. The coffee maker beeped.

“Good,” Yennefer said, turning to get a mug. “Geralt, you’re picking Cirilla up this afternoon, you remember?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, although he hadn't.

“And we have that press conference at six,” Yennefer added.

“I did not agree to that,” Geralt answered immediately, gesturing with his spatula.

“Shame,” Yennefer replied. “I need you to give a statement about the Chain Killer.”  
  


Geralt thinned his lips. “I’ll give you a statement now and you can tell the press tonight,” he countered.

“Alright,” Yennefer agreed. “Do you need a minute?”

“The case is ongoing and we’re still looking for our suspect,” Geralt answered. “I’ll send you the artist rendering. You can give out my work number for tips.”

“That’s it?” Yennefer answered.

Geralt lifted his eyebrows at her, then focused on Ciri’s omelette again. He folded it, then flipped it again.

“This is almost done,” Geralt said. 

“I’m so hungry,” Ciri sighed.

“You’re a growing human,” Yennefer replied.

Geralt flipped the omelette again, letting the other side cook further. He got a plate down, then transferred the omelette to it. He put it on the counter and Ciri pulled it towards herself; she already had a fork.

“What would you say if I wanted one of those?” Yennefer asked.

Geralt sighed, then opened the fridge again. “What do you want in it?”

“What have you got?” Yennefer replied, tone delighted.

Yennefer left with Ciri around seven. Geralt took the coffee pot and a smoothie to the coffee table and sat on the floor. He sent Renfri’s sketch and the reconstructed image from the security cameras to Yennefer, then started reading his emails as he drank his coffee and his smoothie.

Geralt finished his breakfast soon enough. He’d gone through about half his emails, and set about researching reports of a large, four-legged, cloven-hoofed animal going through trash bins near the University. 

A few hours went by, and Geralt only noticed the time when Jaskier wandered into the living room; they were wearing Geralt’s bathrobe and a pair of his socks.

“Oi,” Jaskier greeted, then nudged Geralt’s core with their foot. “Sit up.”

Geralt sat up, frowning. Jaskier then stepped over his lap and sat down. They wrapped their arms around Geralt’s neck and nuzzled into his neck. Geralt blinked for a second, then wrapped his arms around Jaskier in return.

“You cruel Witcher,” Jaskier mumbled, voice softened by Geralt’s clothes. “You let me wake up alone.”

“I apologize,” Geralt answered. “I’ll make sure to stay with you in the future.”

“Good,” Jaskier said firmly. “Why did you even get up?”

“I had to make Ciri breakfast,” Geralt said, repositioning to continue his research over Jaskier’s shoulder. “Then I had work to do. Tomorrow, I’ll come back and work in bed.”

“Fine,” Jaskier said, then yawned. “I’m hungry.”

Geralt smiled a little. He tucked his face into Jaskier’s hair and nuzzled them back.

“What would you like to eat, little lark?” he asked softly.

Jaskier giggled and pressed closer to Geralt. “I want,” they started, “pancakes. And dick.”

Geralt chuckled. “In that order?”

“Nope,” Jaskier said.

“Alright,” Geralt said, gathering Jaskier in his arms in a more secure way. “Where do you want it?”

“Right here,” Jaskier said, leaning forward to press their chest against Geralt’s. “Now.”

“I meant what part of you, but alright,” Geralt answered, reaching under Jaskier to get to his pants.

“I’m in your lap, my Witcher,” Jaskier chuckled. “I think it’s plain what I want.”

“No,” Geralt answered. “You must tell me what you want precisely, when you want it. Do not assume I can interpret your needs automatically.”

“Daddy,” Jaskier whined.

“Don’t,” Geralt insisted. “Not yet, at least. If we remain together for a long period of time, I may come to learn your tells and your rhythm, but that will take effort on both our parts. Effort that includes _you_ telling me what you want, when you want it.”

Jaskier pouted. “Why must you be so sensible about this?” they complained.

Geralt lifted an eyebrow, then gripped Jaskier’s chin. “Tell me what you want, boy.”

Jaskier smirked, licked their lips, then tipped their chin up and looked at Geralt through their lashes. “I want to ride your cock, Daddy.”

Geralt nodded approvingly. “Good boy,” he answered. “Sit up.”

Jaskier grinned and stood up on their knees. Geralt released their jeans, then shoved them and their boxers down, lifting his ass briefly to do so.

“Do you need lube?” Geralt asked, pulling the sides of the bathrobe Jaskier wore out of the way.

“No, Daddy,” Jaskier answered quietly. “I’m still messy from last night.”

Geralt’s cock throbbed at that. He pulled Jaskier into a kiss, grabbing their hair and their hip and pulling them closer. Jaskier puts their groin right on Geralt’s cock and rubs against him, and they are still a wet mess. Geralt is leaking pre-cum already, but Jaskier is leaking Geralt’s seed from the night before.

“You can ride me later,” Geralt announces in a growl, just before turning them sideways and pinning Jaskier to the floor.

“Oh, gods –” Jaskier gasps out.

Geralt grabs his dick and rubs the tip through Jaskier’s folds, groaning at the warmth and feel of them. Jaskier pulls at Geralt’s hair and bites his lip, then moans, high and loud, as Geralt ruts his tip against their cock. 

“I’ve never taken anything so satisfying,” Jaskier whimpers. “Gods have mercy on my soul, my darling, please, put it in me, put it in me now, Daddy –”

“Impatient,” Geralt rumbles, squeezing his fist in Jaskier’s hair. “What did I tell you about timing?”

“I don’t care!” Jaskier retorts. “If you don’t put that cock in me _now,_ Witcher, I will flip us over and take it!”

“I remember something like that happening last night,” Geralt answered, “and yet, you still didn’t get my cock before I thought you were ready.”

“You –!” Jaskier gasps.

They grab Geralt’s shoulders and plant their feet, but Geralt’s ready for them. He grabs Jaskier’s arms and throws them above their head, then cages them with his elbows as he sets his knees on the hard concrete. Jaskier whines and wraps their legs around Geralt’s hips, rutting against his cock.

“Daddy, please?” they beg. “I’ll be good, I’ll feel so good for you, you’ll love my hole, Daddy, I promise, it’s so tight and you’re so big, please, it feels so good –”

“What are your pronouns this morning?” Geralt asked, rolling his hips lazily to rub his cock between Jaskier’s folds.

“Oh, I don’t know!” Jaskier spits out. “You can’t ask me about a complicated thing like gender when you’ve got your cock against mine!”

“I just did,” Geralt countered. “I’ll assume they/them. I’ve already called you boy this morning, but is that okay?”

“Yes,” Jaskier said. “I bloody love being called that no matter what my pronouns are, and I bloody love getting a cock shoved inside me so hard it hurts!”

“Hm,” Geralt answered, tucking his nose into Jaskier’s neck. “It occurs to me, the floor can’t be very comfortable. How’s your back?”

“Gods,” Jaskier exhaled. “This was going to be rushed and heady and so, _so_ sexy and you’re being – Bloody reasonable!”

Geralt chuckled. He sat up and grabbed Jaskier’s arms, pulling them up. Jaskier pouted, but Geralt lifted them into a cradle and stood up with them.

“Your back will thank me later,” Geralt told Jaskier, kissing their cheek.

“My dick’s complaining now,” Jaskier grumbled. “Why must you be so level-headed?”

“I’ve always considered it good manners,” Geralt answered, kicking open his bedroom door. “Best I stay level-headed so my partner can, instead, lose their mind.”

He tossed Jaskier onto the bed and pounced. Jaskier gasped, arching their back and exposing their throat, and Geralt started kissing it, a growl forming in his throat.

“If I were to leave a mark,” he said against Jaskier’s Adam’s apple. “Would it fade before you had to return to work?”

“Gods,” Jaskier whimpered. “Fucking do it, I have concealer.”

Geralt grinned, then latched his lips onto Jaskier’s pulse and began to suck. Jaskier moaned and wrapped their legs around Geralt’s back once more, pressing into his touch everywhere.

Geralt kept Jaskier distracted with his kisses, and in the meantime, spread the wetness on his dick all over his shaft. Then he carefully lined up his cock, making as if he were still just rutting lazily outside Jaskier’s body, and then he shoved in.

“Fuck, Daddy!” Jaskier shouted, his voice cracking partway through.

Geralt growled. Jaskier’s hole spasmed as if they’d almost orgasmed from being speared open. Geralt kissed Jaskier’s mouth demandingly, waiting a brief moment before starting to fuck into them hard.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck!” Jaskier cried out, high-pitched. “Oh, that’s fucking good, Daddy, yes, fuck – _fuck!_ ”

“I think I like it when you’re at a loss for words,” Geralt rumbled against Jaskier’s cheek. “You’re being a good boy for me, princess.”

“Oh, fuck!” Jaskier shrieked.

Their hole spasmed again. Jaskier let out a broken noise, their scent infusing with satisfaction. Geralt slowed to a stop, panting, as Jaskier whimpered and their hole continued to twitch.

“Good boy,” Geralt murmured.

“Gimme a second,” Jaskier exhaled. “I want you to come, too –”

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s cheek. “I don’t have time to knot you and I will if I finish in this hole,” he explained. “You can use your mouth on me, though.”

Jaskier nodded quickly. Geralt pulled out and Jaskier gasped again, twitching one last time as Geralt left them. They flopped backwards, legs falling out onto the bed, and Geralt straightened up, hand gravitating to himself as he looked at the sight before him.

“Like what you see, Daddy?” Jaskier quipped, a lazy smile curling their lip.

“Obviously,” Geralt said, stroking himself. “Are you going to sit up and suck my dick or not?”

Jaskier chuckled. They pushed up, then turned over onto their front and sat up on their elbows. Geralt grabbed the bathrobe and pulled it up Jaskier’s back, exposing their ass. He gave it a smack, just to see it bounce, and Jaskier moaned briefly before tucking their nose against Geralt’s hip.

“Do you want me to wipe it off?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier shook their head, then promptly licked up the side of Geralt’s shaft before taking the head into their mouth. Geralt grabbed their hair, baring his teeth as Jaskier began bobbing their head.

“Good boy,” Geralt growled. “You’re fucking good at this, Jaskier.”

Jaskier moaned around Geralt’s cock, visibly squeezing their thighs. Geralt wished he did have time to give Jaskier his knot, but resolved to make Jaskier come again from his fingers once they were done sucking him off. And maybe he’d jerk off on them. Geralt groaned at the thought, tightening his grip on Jaskier’s hair, and Jaskier looked up at him with wide, round eyes as they sank their mouth on him almost to his knot.

“Fuck –” Geralt growled.

Jaskier reached up and cupped his balls, massaging them with both hands. They looked up again, pulling off to lick at his tip, and Geralt grabbed himself to quickly jack his dick. Jaskier groaned again and took just the head into their mouth, suckling on it and tonguing at his slit, and squeezed his balls gently. Geralt snarled as he came, spilling into Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier let out a satisfied noise and swallowed rapidly, then resumed sucking on his tip gently as if to milk the last drops from him.

“Is one enough for you or do you want to come again?” Geralt asked gruffly.

Jaskier shook their head, eyes falling shut. Their hands slid around Geralt’s back, gripping his ass, and they continued to suck softly on the tip of his dick.

“If you keep going, I’ll need to come a second time,” Geralt warned them.

Jaskier popped off of him and pouted. “Can you? Do you have time?”

Geralt glanced at the clock; it was almost one in the afternoon.

“Not really,” he admitted. “We can fuck again tonight.”

Jaskier grinned and dropped a quick kiss onto the tip of Geralt’s dick, then pushed up and stood on their knees to wrap their arms around Geralt’s neck. They kissed him, mouth tasting like spunk, and Geralt pulled them close in tight arms.

“You know what cockwarming is?” Jaskier murmured against Geralt’s lips.

Geralt growled, tightening his grip. “Not today,” he said. “I wouldn’t get any fucking work done.”

Jaskier chuckled. “Someday,” they said. “Thank you for giving me what I need, my darling Witcher.”

“Hm,” Geralt replied. “You keep calling me that.”

“Mhm,” Jaskier said. “Because it’s true. You are a darling, a Witcher, and _mine._ ”

Geralt’s lip curled in a smile and he nuzzled his nose against Jaskier’s. “So be it,” he said. “My lark.”

Jaskier chuckled again and pulled Geralt into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _lesbian yennefer and baby lesbian ciri superiority. two chapters left!!!_


	11. You should see me in a crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [You should see me in a crown](https://genius.com/14999298)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**cw: violence, recreational drug use** _
> 
> _yeet_

#  _11: You should see me in a crown_

  
  


Jaskier woke up to someone poking their nose. They huffed and rolled over, irritated with the sensation. They snuggled back into the warmth of the bed, easing back into sleep.

Something poked the back of their head.

“Jaskier!”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier mumbled.

“Jaskier, I need help!”

Jaskier groaned and forced their brain to wake enough to open their eyes. Ciri hovered by the side of their bed.

“Did I tell you to fuck off?” Jaskier mumbled.

“Yes, but you also told me you wanted to make bread out of Geralt’s butt,” Ciri answered. “You talk in your sleep. Can you get up?”

“Why?” Jaskier answered, yawning. “What day is it?”

“Monday,” Ciri said. “Geralt had to go out on a call and I need breakfast.”

Jaskier groaned. “Okay,” they mumbled. “Um. Gimme a moment to get dressed?”  
  


“Fine,” Ciri said. “I think I can make coffee if you want some?”

“No, it’s fine,” Jaskier said, yawning. “Go… I dunno, um, just give me a moment.”

Ciri nodded and left. Jaskier sat up, yawned again, and rubbed their eyes. They tossed the blankets off themself and got out of bed, squishing their toes into the new carpet. 

Jaskier yawned a third time, then rolled their neck and stretched. 

“Oof,” they muttered, gripping their shoulder. 

They’d slipped on the pole last night, it probably would have dire consequences. Jaskier got up and stepped into their bunny slippers, then pulled Geralt’s bathrobe off the back of the bedroom door and put it on. They tied it tightly and put the hood up, then exited the bedroom.

The hallway’s fresh coat of soft yellow paint reflected the light from the living room windows. The early summer sun was bright and the glossy hardwood bounced it directly into Jaskier’s eyes.

“What time izzit?” Jaskier grumbled, staggering into the kitchen.

“Six,” Ciri said. 

Jaskier groaned and opened the fridge, then whimpered at the stabbing light going directly into their eyes once again. 

“Remind me why you can’t cook your own breakfast?” they asked. “Not that I don’t adore you, Lion Cub, but I did fall asleep barely an hour ago.”

“Not my fault Geralt doesn’t let you sleep,” Ciri answered. “And…”

Jaskier turned around and blinked at her. Ciri scowled and slumped over the counter.

“I don’t know how to cook,” she said. “Geralt makes everything.”

Jaskier thought back over the past seven months of living with Ciri and Geralt. “Huh,” they said. “You know, I think you’re right. I haven’t cooked once since moving in.”

“See!” Ciri cried out. “Geralt hasn’t not been here in the mornings, like, ever?”

Jaskier nodded thoughtfully. “Well,” they said, exhaling heavily. “I shall do my best to make you eggs, beans, and toast.”

Ciri shrugged and nodded, leaning over the counter. Jaskier turned back to the fridge and set about making a traditional Cintran breakfast, minus the sausage as they didn’t trust themself with raw pork.

“Where is Geralt, exactly?” Jaskier asked, popping bread in the toaster.

“Dunno,” Ciri muttered. “On-call. Yennefer told me there’s been an uptick in non-human racism since she announced she was striking the Blue Registry.”

“Oh,” Jaskier answered, nodding. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Geralt just told me to ask you to make breakfast,” Ciri added. “I asked Cynthia where he was going but she doesn’t know or is lying.”  
  


“I do not know,” Cynthia announced, appearing on the fridge’s screen to wave cheerfully.

“Certainly,” Jaskier answered dryly. “Where are the beans?”

“The pantry,” Cynthia answered.

Ciri pointed, as she was actually helpful. Jaskier crossed the kitchen to fetch a can.

“Do you think you could call my school and tell them I’m sick?” Ciri said abruptly.

Jaskier looked up, blinking. “I’m not sure I have the authority?” they answered.

Ciri pouted and laid across the countertop. “My period started,” she complained. “And my guts feel like all the demons from the Nine Hells are having a romp in them.”

“I’ll call,” Jaskier answered. “I’ll make you a cuppa, dear, go back to bed.”

Ciri smiled and slid off her stool. She moved around the island first and wrapped her arms around Jaskier’s middle, though she was already almost as tall as him, then shuffled out of the kitchen bent slightly over. Jaskier put the beans and eggs away, but plated the toast and turned on the electric kettle.

“Cynthia, can you dial Ciri’s school?” Jaskier asked.

“Dialing,” Cynthia answered.

Jaskier got down a mug and a teabag. As the phone rang, Jaskier added the bag to the mug.

_“Central Cintran Academy for the Gifted, please hold.”_

The line clicked again. Jaskier got down the sugar jar in preparation, waiting on the kettle.

_“Central Cintran Academy for the Gifted, this is Headmaster Marcel Krolik’s office, how can I help you?”_

“Hello,” Jaskier greeted in their best, most assuring voice, “I’m Cirilla Riannon’s guardian, she’s in the year eight class, she is under the weather and I’m afraid she won’t be coming in today.”  
  


_“I’m very sorry to hear that,”_ whoever on the other end of the line answered. _“Now, we have Geralt z Rivii listed as Cirilla’s guardian, and I’m afraid our system doesn’t recognize your voice. Is Witcher Rivii available to speak with us?”_

“No, I’m afraid he’s off fighting monsters,” Jaskier answered regretfully. “I’m his partner, Ciri’s step-guardian, I suppose you could say; Julian Pankratz, I’ve been to a few PTA meetings.”

They put as much charm into their voice as possible and hoped that their Siren Allure or whatever it was worked over the phone.

_“I understand,”_ the school official answered. _“Thank you for calling in and we hope Cirilla feels better. Have a good day!”_

“You, too!” Jaskier replied happily.

The line clicked. The kettle whistled. Jaskier filled the mug, stirred it, then added sugar, stirred again, and added cream. They took it and the plate of toast down the hallway. They knocked on Ciri’s door and peeked inside. Ciri was curled up on her bed, stomach wrapped in a heating pad.

“All taken care of, my love,” Jaskier said, entering on gentle feet to put the tea and toast on Ciri’s bedside. “Do you need anything?”

Ciri shook her head. “I took some pain meds already,” she said. “I’ll have that and try to go back to sleep.”

“Alright,” Jaskier said. “Tell Cynthia to wake me up if you need me, alright, love?”

Ciri nodded. Jaskier bent over her bed and kissed her forehead, then shuffled out and shut the door again. They returned to their bedroom, shut the door, and collapsed in bed again. 

Jaskier grabbed their phone and sent Geralt a text about Ciri staying home, then another demanding cuddles, then took their bathrobe off again and got under the blankets. They snuggled up to the extra pillows and starfished, then easily fell asleep again.

They woke again to weight wrapping around them. Jaskier mumbled and Geralt kissed their jaw, settling at their back.

“I’m sleeping,” Jaskier groaned, “go away.”

“You said you wanted cuddles,” Geralt purred against his neck. “I’m providing them.”

Jaskier grumbled and rolled over to press into Geralt’s front. “Sleep,” they mumbled.

“It’s almost two PM.”

“Die mad about it,” Jaskier muttered.

Geralt chuckled. Jaskier fell asleep again.

They woke a _third_ time to Geralt moving. Jaskier groaned and grabbed Geralt, pinning him down as best as they could. Geralt chuckled and brushed his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.

“It’s four-thirty, lark,” he said. “Yennefer’s coming over to pamper Ciri and she invited you.”

Jaskier grumbled. “Your ex-wife is a gem, but you’re an asshole,” they muttered. “I’m getting my _beauty sleep._ ”

Geralt’s lips pressed to their forehead. “You don’t need sleep to be beautiful, Jaskier. I also need to get back to work.”

“Did you just call me beautiful?” Jaskier replied incredulously.

Geralt rolled them over and pressed a long, slow kiss to Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier groaned, distracted from the draw of sleep, and Geralt’s hand slid between their legs.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier gasped as Geralt touched their cock gently. “ _Fuck,_ Daddy –”

“If you’re a very good boy, I’ll get you off quickly and let you make me come,” Geralt murmured in their ear.

“Oh, that’s not fair!” Jaskier whined.

“I seem to recall a certain brat saying they prefer their Daddy to be a little unfair,” Geralt replied, biting Jaskier’s earlobe gently. “Well?”

Jaskier pulled one leg back and up, then shoved a hand between them to get to Geralt’s dick, and Geralt chuckled.

It was quick, as Geralt said it would be, but nonetheless satisfying. Jaskier licked their hand clean afterwards, cock buzzing a little from the aftershocks of their orgasm and the spurt of cum Geralt aimed between their legs.

“Come on,” Geralt said, kissing Jaskier’s jaw. “We’ll have a shower.”

“You offer the basest of pleasantries, darling,” Jaskier said, yawning once more.

Yet, in the shower, Geralt washed Jaskier instead of leaving them to do it themself. Jaskier got to stand there with their eyes shut and allow Geralt’s hands to wander their body in a proprietary way. It was nice.

When Jaskier and Geralt left their room, hair wet but clothed for the day, Yennefer was sat on the couch with Ciri, a bowl of ice cream each and a third waiting on the coffee table.

“Jaskier!” Yennefer greeted. “Come, darling, you’re our obligatory non-female for girl’s night.”

“I’m not sure why girl’s night obliges a non-female,” Jaskier answered, but took the bowl of ice cream.

“Shoo,” Yennefer added to Geralt.

“Hmph,” Geralt answered, but he left.

Jaskier curled up on one end of the sofa with the ice cream and stuck their toes under Yennefer’s thighs. Yennefer shot them a warning look, but Jaskier stuck their nose up and maintained their position. Ciri giggled at the two of them, then turned her attention to the television.

“As the star of tonight’s activities I want to watch a terrible movie,” she said. “Any votes in disfavor?”

“Disfavor?” Yennefer countered. “Cirilla –”

“Then that’s a no!” Ciri said happily. “My favorite terrible movie, then –”

She queued something to the television and Jaskier realized with horror –

“That’s a horror movie!” they gasped.

“Yes, but it’s terrible,” Ciri said. 

“You’re going to make me hide in bed for the next three days,” Jaskier complained. “I need my Witcher to protect me!”

“You’ll be fine!” Ciri insisted.

Yennefer clucked her tongue and held out her arm. “Here, darling,” she said, “I’ll protect you.”

Jaskier repositioned hastily to curl up at her side. Yennefer patted their shoulder and kissed their hair. And still, the horror movie began. Jaskier was frightened at once.

“I’m going to have terrible nightmares and Geralt will be very cross with you,” they told Ciri.

“I’ll live,” Ciri giggled.

One terrible horror movie was followed, unfortunately, by another. By then, it was time for a proper meal and Yennefer produced takeout from some local place. They all sat on the couch again with their takeout, Yennefer in the corner with Jaskier against her side and Ciri against theirs. This second terrible horror movie was more horrifying than the first.

“Oh, I can’t watch!” Jaskier bemoaned, hiding their face in Yennefer’s boobs.

Ciri laughed at them. Yennefer chuckled, patting their head. The music crescendoed abruptly and Jaskier squeaked even though they hadn't been looking.

A door opened, creaking, and Jaskier steadfastly hid their face further.

“I don’t see it –” Ciri said.

“I refuse to look,” Jaskier insisted.

“I don’t get it?” Yennefer added.

Jaskier peeked out and saw the scene on the television took place outdoors.

“I heard a door?” they said.

The TV shut off, along with all the lights and fans. It had gotten dark since they’d sat down for the second movie. Jaskier, in time with Yennefer and Ciri, looked towards the hallway.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called.

Heavy boots entered the living room. In the darkness, a pair of red eyes gleamed.

#  _*_

Lambert kicked open Geralt’s office door. “Oi, peabrain, we’re gettin’ together for the first smoke’a the harvest!”

“I’m busy,” Geralt replied.

Lambert strode in and grabbed Geralt’s jacket, giving an impressive try at hauling him up. “I said,” he repeated, “we’re havin’ the first smoke of the harvest, old man. I worked hard getting those leaves to peak performance. The least you could do is join us for a puff.”

Geralt stood up and gave Lambert a stern look. “I think you mistake my being older than you with a reason to tease me, pup,” he said firmly.

“Nah, don’t try that on me,” Lambert countered. “You’re not old enough for it to work. Or Eskel. It doesn’t work. C’mon.”

Geralt huffed, but he followed Lambert out. They went down the hall to Lambert and Eskel’s apartment, where Coën and Eskel were already waiting, plus Vesemir, who never passed up an opportunity for Lambert’s leaf.

“Finally!” Eskel said. “Lambie, let’s get it started, yeah?”

Geralt took a seat next to Vesemir and kicked his feet up, waiting while Lambert prepared the pipe. Vesemir was already smoking a pipe, but by the scent, it was just a few calming herbs. Geralt held his hand out and Vesemir wordlessly passed the pipe over. Geralt took a puff, inhaled deeply, then passed it back.

“Heard the Lion Cub skipped school,” Vesemir grunted.

“Growing pains,” Geralt replied. “Jaskier called her out.”

“And the school accepted that?” Vesemir answered.

Geralt looked at Vesemir, eyebrows raised. Vesemir grunted, gesturing with his pipe.

“I meant, have you put ‘em on record?” he asked. “With the school.”

“Ah,” Geralt answered. “No. But they’ve been to… Things… At Ciri's school. In a parental manner.”

Vesemir grunted again, nodding. He blew out smoke and formed Igni to light his pipe once more. Geralt tipped back in his seat, eyes gravitating to Lambert again as he packed a pipe for the group to pass around.

“That going to actually be finished this season?” Geralt called.

Eskel flashed Aard in Geralt’s direction, but in a gentle manner, and Geralt was knocked back against his chair. He chuckled as Lambert waved two fingers at him, an equally effective sign.

“There, ya impatient geezer,” he declared, lighting the pipe with Igni. “Just for that, you get the last puff.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. Lambert gave Eskel the pipe first, who took a very long draw from it before handing it back. Lambert waited until Eskel smiled and nodded to hit it himself. Lambert passed it to Vesemir next, who put his own pipe aside to draw in Lambert’s.

“Good shit,” Vesemir exhaled as he handed Geralt the pipe.

“Oi, I said he was last!” Lambert complained.

“And?” Vesemir answered. “Coën’s all the way over there. Easier to pass it to Geralt.”

Geralt chuckled and put the pipe in his mouth. Lambert scowled, as much of a pout as he could manage. Eskel shook his head and patted Lambert’s shoulder. 

Geralt drew from the pipe deeply, letting the smoke fill his mouth, and he lifted his tongue to let it settle there to cool. He inhaled through his open mouth, taking it into his lungs, and he let his head tip forward, his eyes shut, as he let the smoke linger in his lungs for a moment before he exhaled.

“Come on, don’t be stingy,” Coën called.

Geralt took another puff before passing the pipe. Lambert clucked his tongue. Geralt smirked and blew a bit of smoke in his direction before inhaling it into his lungs.

“Good shit,” Vesemir muttered.

“Hm,” Geralt agreed.

His head was already clearing. There was some tension in his shoulders that was vanishing, too. 

“Good shit,” Geralt repeated softly.

The pipe was passed around until it was empty, and by then, Eskel had brought out a bottle of booze and Vesemir had started on one of his _When I Was Your Age_ stories that, since they’re all off their balls stoned, is actually amusing.

“Don’t know why you lot don’t laugh like this every other time I tell this story,” he even remarked.

“‘s ‘cause we’re usually not shitfaced,” Coën snorted.

Geralt even chuckled.

“To the good leaf!” Lambert shouted, holding up his glass.

“To the good leaf!” Geralt and the others echoed.

Geralt spilled a bit over his chin, but that was wiped away easily. Despite the leaf being fucking grand, the high was already fading. He felt quite relaxed, and perhaps ready to haul Jaskier into bed and wring a few dozen orgasms out of them.

The building shook as a scream broke the air. It felt worse than the worst earthquake Cintra had ever experienced.

Geralt threw his glass to the ground and ignored the sound of the glass shattering. He was out of his chair and running for the door. The others were on his heel, and they all had their swords out already, but Geralt’s was in his apartment. Left by the bed, like a _fool._

Geralt kicked his own apartment door open and barreled into the living room, where he’d last seen Ciri, Jaskier, and Yennefer. Ciri and Yennefer are on the sofa, Ciri’s face white and Yennefer looking genuinely afraid.

Jaskier was kneeling on a man’s chest, chain in their hands pulled taut around the man’s neck. The man’s eyes, red and slit-pupiled, were bugging out. 

“Gods, fucking –” Geralt gasps, grabbing Jaskier off the Chain Killer. “What the fuck!”

The chain fell from Jaskier’s hands, which were already bruising from the links. They were shaking. Eskel dropped to his knees by the man and checked his pulse. He looked up.

“Dead,” he said.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier whispered.

“That’s him!” Ciri shrieked, but it didn't shake the building this time. “It’s him! He – He –!”  
  


“It’s alright,” Yennefer soothed her.

“What the fuck happened?” Geralt demanded, looking down at Jaskier.

“You smell like weed,” Jaskier muttered.

Geralt took Jaskier’s arms and pushed them onto the arm of the sofa, then bent over them. “What happened?” he asked again.

Jaskier blew out their breath. “Well,” they said. “I just killed a man. I think.”

Geralt looked up at Yennefer, at a loss.

“We were watching a horror movie,” Yennefer said weakly. “I should’ve heard him coming – He came in, he said – Gods, I can’t remember what he said. Jaskier just – Just fucking jumped on him.”

“You jumped him?” Geralt demanded of Jaskier, shaking them gently. “He could’ve killed you!”

Jaskier shrugged, not meeting Geralt’s gaze. “I killed him instead,” they said. “I think I might vomit.”

Geralt snapped his fingers at Coën, who was nearest to the kitchen. Coën understood at once and grabbed a large bowl, then brought it over. Geralt handed it to Jaskier, who hugged him.

Ciri jumped up from the sofa and ran to Geralt, colliding with his middle. Geralt picked her up completely, cradling her against his throat. She was shaking more violently than Jaskier.

“That’s him!” Ciri sobbed. “Him!”

Geralt slowly understood. He looked down at the corpse on the floor, horrified. Ciri had never seen the renderings or Renfri’s sketch.

“This is the man that killed your grandmother?” Vesemir asked gruffly.

Ciri nodded into Geralt’s neck, continuing to cry. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and Geralt moved closer to them, wrapping his other arm around them.

“He had a crossbow,” Yennefer said.

Geralt looked and spotted the bolt sticking out of the back of the couch. “Gods,” he muttered.

“I just –” Jaskier muttered. “Ciri screamed and – and the earthquake? And I jumped. Got the chain and – and –”

Geralt bent and kissed Jaskier’s hair. “You did good,” he said roughly. “Protected the cub. You did good.”

Jaskier shivered and bent over the bowl. Geralt gave them a bit of space as Jaskier heaved, but kept a hand on the back of their neck. Jaskier coughed, but ultimately didn’t vomit.

“Gods,” Lambert muttered. “Geralt, this – He’s a –”

“Take it out of here,” Geralt snapped. “To the city coroner. TLX-42, I want ten copies of the security footage from his entrance to now. Physical copies!”

“Printing,” TLX-42 answered.

Eskel and Coën picked up the corpse together. Lambert lifted the abandoned hand crossbow and chain. The three of them took the evidence away. Vesemir moved closer, putting his hand on Ciri’s back.

“Cub,” he said softly, “can you say in front of these witnesses that the man that just came in here is the man you saw kill your grandmother?”

Ciri nodded quickly.

“Aloud, cub,” Geralt told her carefully.

“It was him,” Ciri said rapidly. “I saw – I saw that man – He was in Grandmother’s closet – He came out and he – He –”

“That’s enough,” Vesemir answered gently. “Thank you, cub. It’ll be alright now.”

Yennefer got up from the couch and hugged Ciri from the side. Geralt gave her a firm nod, thinning his lips, then glanced at Vesemir.

“How did he get in here?” he growled.

Vesemir shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to check with the building AI.”

Yennefer gave Geralt a meaningful look. Geralt tucked his face into Jaskier’s hair, gripping their shoulder.

“How –?” Ciri hiccuped. “How’d he know?”

Geralt shook his head, looking at Vesemir. Vesemir shrugged. Since taking Ciri, they’d been incredibly cautious about who knew where she was, who she was staying with. Geralt had no explanation.

“It’s over,” he told Ciri. “He’s dead. Not going to hurt anyone else now.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier muttered breathily.

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s hair. “You were defending yourself and Ciri,” he insisted. “You did good.”

“Am I going to jail?” Jaskier whispered. “I killed a man!”

“You’re going to bed,” Geralt said firmly.

Ciri whimpered and clung tighter to Geralt. He squeezed her waist.

“You can come,” he said. “We’ll stay together. I’ll keep you safe.”

Vesemir patted Ciri’s back. Yennefer squeezed Ciri’s shoulder.

“I’ll put some wards around the apartment and stay on the sofa tonight,” she offered. “You’ll be perfectly safe, my dear.”

Geralt nodded gratefully to Yennefer. He pulled Jaskier from the arm of the sofa and wrapped an arm around them, then walked with them down the hallway to their bedroom.

Geralt put Ciri down on the bed and ruffled her hair. Jaskier got in and immediately got under the blankets, curling up at once. Ciri crawled in with them and wormed her way into Jaskier’s arms. Geralt stripped off his boots, then got in with them, fully dressed, and wrapped both of them in his arms.

Ciri was still crying. Jaskier squeezed her tight and murmured soothingly to her. Geralt didn’t know what to say. The monster had been slain. The closet was empty. He wasn’t sure what he could do, so he just held Ciri and Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and that's on that_


	12. but fuck all your plans I’m bored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [but fuck all your plans I’m bored](https://genius.com/The-amazing-devil-that-unwanted-animal-lyrics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _uwu it's the end_

#  _12: but fuck all your plans I’m bored_

  
  


Jaskier woke up squished primarily by Ciri, secondarily by Geralt. All three of them were wearing day clothes instead of pajamas. Geralt smelled vaguely of weed.

Jaskier stared at the ceiling for a long moment. The events of the night before came back in perfect clarity.

They had all heard a door creaking. They’d assumed it was part of the movie. Jaskier had looked up at the TV, but there was no door on screen. Yennefer had said something. Then the power had gone out. They had heard footsteps. Jaskier had thought it was Geralt. 

Then _he_ had come in. None of them had a name for him. The Chain-Killer was all Jaskier could call him. He had entered the living room, a small crossbow in one hand and the infamous chain in the other. 

Ciri – She had screamed and it felt like an earthquake. The Chain-Killer had been about to shoot, but Ciri’s scream had knocked him off balance. Jaskier hadn't thought. They’d jumped up, climbed over Ciri, and leapt onto the Chain-Killer from the arm of the sofa. They’d knocked him down, grabbed the chain, and gotten it around his neck. Jaskier had stared into his eyes as they yanked the chain tight. They remembered something _crunching,_ then blood oozed out of his mouth, his eyes had been wide and surprised. 

Jaskier didn’t mind the sight of blood. The Chain-Killer’s lips had gone purple, his eyes bloodshot.

After that, Jaskier’s memory was stagnant. They wished that their memory had started to fail from the power-out on, not from Geralt running in. Jaskier could remember being pulled off the Chain-Killer, being wrapped in Geralt’s arms, and Ciri crying. Then they’d gotten in Geralt’s bed and just – The three of them fell asleep together.

Now Ciri was pressed tightly to Jaskier’s shirt, a stiff patch under her cheek from where her tears had dried. Geralt’s hand was tangled with Jaskier’s, resting on their stomach. Geralt’s arm was under them, and surely it had fallen asleep. Geralt and Ciri didn’t seem to be close to waking.

Jaskier’s mouth was dry. They got up, wriggling to get out from under Ciri. Ciri sighed in her sleep and tucked back into Geralt, who grumbled and wrapped his arms around her fully. Jaskier looked on the nightstand, but there was no water. They got out of the bed and walked, barefoot, from the bedroom to the kitchen. 

Geralt and Jaskier hadn't replaced the concrete in the kitchen. Not yet, or maybe they wouldn’t. The kitchen floor was cold, but Jaskier didn’t really notice. They got a cup down from the cupboard and filled it from the fridge dispenser. They drank, the cold water waking them a little more. 

It was dark out still. Jaskier looked out at the living room and saw Yennefer sprawled on the sofa. There was a jagged tear in the leather from the crossbow bolt. Jaskier sipped their water and contemplated repairing or replacing that couch.

Jaskier leaned against the island counter and finished their water, then refilled it. They took it back to the bedroom, and found Geralt just getting up.

“Gods,” Geralt muttered, in _relief,_ sinking back onto the bed. “Come here.”

Jaskier crossed to his side of the bed and put down their water. Geralt pulled Jaskier onto his lap and wrapped his arms around them, pressing his face into Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier pressed their face into Geralt’s hair.

“I woke up and you were _gone,_ ” Geralt whispered.

“I was thirsty,” Jaskier mumbled.

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s collarbone. He took a deep breath, lifted his face, and pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s, then just lingered there.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you,” Geralt said quietly.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier answered. “Ciri has magic, apparently. We did alright.”

Geralt sighed, but shook his head. “I should’ve been here,” he insisted. “For both of you; if – if you hadn't gotten him by surprise, if Ciri hadn't screamed –”

Jaskier cut Geralt off by kissing him. Gently, just pressing their lips together. Geralt sighed against Jaskier’s mouth. His breath tasted awful.

“We’re alright,” Jaskier murmured. “It’s over now. He’s dead.”

Geralt nodded. He cupped Jaskier’s face with both hands, brushing his thumbs across Jaskier’s cheeks, then kissed them again.

“I should be comforting you,” Geralt murmured.

“You are,” Jaskier answered. “You’re a comfort at all times, my love.”

Geralt’s eyes widened. Jaskier inhaled sharply, realizing. They smiled then, and brushed their nose against Geralt’s.

“I love you,” they whispered.

Geralt gripped Jaskier’s hair, letting out a sharp breath. “Jaskier,” he whispered harshly.

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s nose. “I do,” they insisted. “I love you, my Witcher.”

Geralt exhaled. He bumped his nose against Jaskier’s and pulled them closer, sharing their air.

“Your breath is awful,” Jaskier murmured.

“I love you,” Geralt replied gently.

“Enough to brush your teeth?” Jaskier joked softly.

Geralt let out a soft snort, his lip turning up. “Alright,” he murmured. “Get off me then.”

Jaskier pecked Geralt’s forehead, then stood up. Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hands, then left for the bathroom. Jaskier pulled the blanket over Ciri, brushing her hair away from her face, then followed Geralt. They leaned against the doorway, crossing their arms over their chest, and watched Geralt wet his toothbrush and add toothpaste.

“I do love you,” Jaskier repeated. “So much.”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder, toothbrush partially to his mouth. He smiled a little and looked down, then back to the sink. Jaskier walked up behind him and wrapped their arms around his middle, pressing their face against his back.

“My big, strong Witcher,” Jaskier murmured. “I know you’ll always run in to save me, even if I’ve already taken care of the situation.”

Geralt snorted. “I’d prefer to prevent those things from happening in the first place.”

“Hm, that might be nice,” Jaskier agreed. “Things like last night. Yes. Less serious things, I do enjoy cutting a man.”

Geralt snorted. “I think I’ve learned that,” he agreed, then spat toothpaste and looked over his shoulder. “I would like it to be less often.”

“It’s not even once a week,” Jaskier defended themself. “Not counting last night. I think I haven’t attacked anyone in a month.”

Geralt rinsed his mouth, then spat again. “You kicked a man out of his chair and stomped on his nose Friday night,” he said.

“Well,” Jaskier said. “That was deserved. He said Kayla was pretty for an Elven girl.”

“Hm,” Geralt replied, putting away his toothbrush. “You’re right.”

Geralt turned. Jaskier stood on their toes and wrapped their arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling his face down to kiss him softly.

“Jaskier?” Geralt murmured, brushing Jaskier’s cheek with a hand.

“Yes, my love?” Jaskier answered.

“We have a ceremony,” Geralt said. “For mates. When they’re ready to devote to one another.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said at once.

“I haven’t told you what it entails,” Geralt countered.

“I don’t care,” Jaskier said. “I want to do it. And I want a ring.”

“It’s a very serious ritual,” Geralt insisted. “We would be scarred for each other, and I would take you in front of my brethren.”

“Public sex?” Jaskier replied, chuckling. “I can do that.”

“The scar, Jaskier,” Geralt repeated.

“I’ll take it,” Jaskier said, picking up Geralt’s hand and touching it to their chest. “I have two scars already that I am very proud of. I would be delighted to take a third.”

Geralt let out his breath, then pressed another kiss to Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier hummed for him and after the kiss broke, pressed their face against Geralt’s chest.

“If there’s sex, then we should have a second ceremony Ciri can attend,” they said. 

“Would you like to have a traditional marriage?” Geralt asked.

“No,” Jaskier said. “Fuck Cintran traditions. Fuck human traditions. We’re not that.”

Geralt chuckled. “No,” he agreed, tucking his nose into Jaskier’s hair. “We’re not.”

#  _*_

Vesemir was the one to find out who the Chain-Killer was. His name was Varen z Daevon. He lived in a small apartment in the south side of the Blue District. He’d gone through all of the Witcher Trials, but had been expelled for killing an innocent non-human. That was how he got into Kaer Morhen; the security system considered him a lost pup. He was from Vesemir’s generation, had gone through the Trials before they were made safer. And once they had a full DNA profile, suddenly a lot of cold non-human murder cases had answers.

Geralt stood in Varen’s apartment, looking at a large wall of cork-boards covered in pictures and yarn and push pins. Calanthe’s picture was in the middle, crossed out in red marker. A string connected that picture to Yennefer’s which had _BLUE BITCH_ written on it in large letters. There were multiple pictures of Jaskier; from outside his old apartment, outside the Fox and Hound, around town with Geralt. 

And there were pictures of Ciri, too.

“Look at this,” Lambert said, walking up to Geralt with a paper book in his hands. “Man kept a diary.”

Geralt took it and flipped through it. Each entry was dated; surveillance records from his victims. The first entry was two years old. Geralt recognized the victim’s name, an Elf that had been found hanging in an abandoned warehouse. The city Public Safety department ruled it a suicide.

“Gods,” Geralt murmured, taking a seat.

He went through the entries, looking for Calanthe’s death. Three months up to it was the first entry on her. 

_“Prime Minister Calanthe wants to give Blue-bloods free reign of the city. She’s removing restrictions on them that protect humans. Today’s bill is just the first, there will be more.”_

“Fuck,” Geralt growled.

He read bits and pieces. Varen thought killing Calanthe would roll back the actions Parliament was taking to give non-humans freedom and protection in Cintra. After he killed her and Yennefer was made Acting Prime Minister, he wrote how he preferred using the chain to all else. Varen had tried to get Yennefer’s medical history, but failed. He’d theorized she was part-siren. He was wrong, she was a quarter elf, and still: 

_“Part-sirens are the worst. They masquerade as humans and use their magic to manipulate real humans to get what they want to happen.”_

That was what started him on hunting part-sirens. 

“Fuck,” Geralt repeated.

“Fucked up,” Lambert agreed.

Eskel took the book from Geralt. Geralt stood up again and strode up to the corkboard, scowling at the pictures of Ciri. Varen had been tracking Yennefer and Ciri at her school.

“Shit,” Eskel declared.

“What?” Geralt growled.

“Listen to this,” Eskel said, striding forward. “ _‘The fool working on my case has given up. He’s the one harboring Calanthe’s heir, not the siren bitch Yennefer, I know it. The bitch Rivii stopped me from killing is living with him. I find the bitch that got away, I find Calanthe’s heir.’_ ”

“Gods,” Lambert whispered.

Geralt bared his teeth and snarled. He turned and slammed a fist into a nearby table; it shattered down the middle and fell to pieces on the floor. Vesemir stepped forward and gripped his shoulder.

“He’s dead, pup,” he said affirmingly. “He can’t hurt our Lion Cub now.”

“He almost did!” Geralt snarled. “He was _this_ close, Vesemir!”

“Calm down, pup,” Vesemir answered in a low growl. “He’s dead. You’re angry with yourself for nothing.”

“I’m angry that he could get so close to them without me noticing!” Geralt shouted. “Look at this, Vesemir! He was stalking my pack! He got into my home!”

“And he’s dead!” Vesemir snapped.

Geralt snarled again, ripping from Vesemir’s grip; he kicked a chair and sent it across the room. Vesemir grabbed his shoulders with both hands.

“Stop!” Vesemir growled. “Listen to me, pup. Listen!”

Geralt growled, panting. Vesemir grabbed his face and forced Geralt to look him in the eye.

“Jaskier killed the man,” Vesemir growled, “because Ciri used her magic to catch him by surprise! Your pack isn’t helpless!”

Geralt growled again, baring his teeth. Vesemir shook him.

“It’s over!” he snapped. “Your anger is helping no one! It’s over and your pack is safe.”

Eskel stepped up beside Geralt and gripped his shoulder, squeezing. “The old man’s right,” he said softly. “I know it’s hard. I know if someone threatened Lambert, I’d be ready to burn the city to the ground. But Varen’s dead, and he can’t hurt your mate or your pup anymore.”

Geralt let out his breath sharply, clenching his jaw, then nodded. Vesemir patted Geralt’s cheek, then let him go.

“You can destroy the apartment, though,” Vesemir said. “That diary and those pictures are all we need.”

Geralt nodded again, but he didn’t feel the anger anymore. He looked back at the wall of pictures and clenched his jaw, caught by a picture of himself, Jaskier, and Ciri leaving her school.

“We’re going to check up with all the ex-Witchers, right?” Lambert asked Vesemir.

“Already on it,” Vesemir said. “And do a thorough review of our current members.”

“Good,” Geralt growled. “This can never happen again.”

Geralt took Ciri out of Central Cintran Academy and enrolled her in Kaer Eolas instead. She was safer there. Dara was going to Kaer Eolas, anyway, so she didn’t complain too much. Jaskier took time off work. Geralt didn’t argue with him over that.

Geralt finally appeared at one of Yennefer’s press conferences. He and Vesemir laid out everything they had found in Varen’s apartment, down to the letter; every unsolved murder that Varen’s diary confessed to, the non-human hatred, how he had targeted Calanthe for passing laws protecting non-humans, his plans to take out Yennefer and cleanse Cintra of part-sirens.

The day after, Parliament finally voted to install Yennefer fully as the Prime Minister.

They planned a wedding ceremony as well as the mating ceremony, but that would take longer. The mating ceremony required a lot less; it took just a week to arrange.

The ritual permitted any number of Witchers to witness, but there had to be at least fourteen. Geralt invited his littermates, pretty much. Jaskier invited Yennefer and Priscilla and Valdo Marx from the Fox and Hound.

“You _hate_ Marx,” Geralt said.

“And?” Jaskier replied. “I want him to watch me take your dick like a champ. He somehow still doesn’t get it that you’re mine.”

Geralt rolled with it.

Vesemir administered the ritual; he didn’t count as one of the fourteen witnesses. It took place in the Great Hall, by the hearth. The guests formed a semi-circle around the hearth, with Vesemir standing over Geralt and Jaskier kneeling, already naked, before each other.

“Take each other’s wrists,” Vesemir commanded.

Geralt picked up Jaskier’s slim hands, then grasped their wrists. Jaskier gripped Geralt’s forearms.

Vesemir wrapped ropes around their hands, binding them together. Jaskier bit their lip, then grinned at Geralt. Geralt’s lip ticked up, squeezing Jaskier’s wrists.

“We here witness today the mating of Geralt, our brother, and Jaskier, our guest,” Vesemir declared. “They take these marks to show their devotion to each other.”

Vesemir took an iron brand from the fire. Geralt held his head high and Vesemir touched the brand to his breast first, right over his heart. The pain was blinding and then gone as Vesemir drew Axii, clearing Geralt’s mind. Vesemir put the brand down and touched a cold cloth, wet with a numbing solution, to Geralt’s chest, then he released the Sign. Geralt became aware of the pain again, but it was muted. 

Vesemir took the brand out again and touched it to Jaskier’s chest. He was quicker with Axii, but Jaskier still gasped. Their eyes dilated, the Sign taking over their mind for the moment, and Vesemir soothed the burn with the numbing potion. He put the brand away.

“So it is,” Vesemir declared.

“So it is,” the gathered witnesses echoed.

Geralt moved in and kissed Jaskier. Jaskier hummed beneath him, their scent already picking up in arousal. 

“They will now tie in front of our witnesses,” Vesemir announced.

Geralt growled and pushed Jaskier onto the floor. They were still bound together at the hands, but the rope was flimsy; Geralt snapped it. He pinned Jaskier’s hands to the floor and kicked their legs apart to kneel between them. Jaskier was panting, their scent sweetening from arousal, and Geralt growled into their mouth. His dick hardened fully, very quickly, and Geralt let himself just rut between Jaskier’s legs. Jaskier whined, lifting their legs around Geralt’s waist, and pressed up against him. 

Geralt caught his dick against Jaskier’s hole and pushed in. Jaskier shouted, ending in a moan, and Geralt growled again. He kissed down Jaskier’s neck, staying away from the fresh mark on Jaskier’s chest; the numbing potion would taste awful and also numb his mouth. Geralt rolled his hips and Jaskier whined.

They didn’t say a damn word, but Jaskier was still vocal. Geralt pinned Jaskier’s wrists with one hand and reached between them, gripping Jaskier’s dick. Jaskier shouted as Geralt fucked them ruthlessly and pumped their dick in time with the rhythm. Jaskier came fast and screamed, practically; their hole spasmed around Geralt’s dick and he followed quickly, spilling into them. His knot swelled and expanded, and Geralt caught Jaskier’s mouth in another kiss.

“The ritual is complete,” Vesemir called.

The guests applauded. Geralt cupped Jaskier’s cheek, letting the kiss slow. Jaskier pulled their wrists free of his grip and wrapped their arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt took the moment to lift Jaskier from the ground, then sit back on his ankles, settling Jaskier in his lap. 

“Alright, everyone get out,” Vesemir announced.

Geralt ignored the guests leaving, focusing on Jaskier rocking back and forth slowly on his knot. Vesemir tossed a blanket around them and shut it with clothespins, then prodded Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt broke off from Jaskier’s lips with a snarl, but Vesemir did not seem impressed.

“You got ten minutes to carry ‘em upstairs,” he said. “Enjoy your honeymoon, pup.”

Geralt grunted and nodded. Jaskier started sucking a hickey into Geralt’s neck. Geralt pushed to his feet, grunting as his knot tugged at Jaskier’s hole; Jaskier gasped at the same time, clenching around him. Geralt gripped Jaskier’s ass and around his waist, holding the blanket secure under them. Vesemir left in one direction, and Geralt went straight for the elevator.

Ciri was staying with Yennefer for the week ahead of them. Geralt carried Jaskier to their apartment and shamelessly put them down on the sofa to start kissing them again. Jaskier rolled their hips on Geralt’s knot and Geralt growled.

“Can you come again like this, Daddy?” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt growled, at a loss for words. He planted his knees and started thrusting as hard as he could with the little give he had. Jaskier threw their head back and gasped.

“Fucking, _yes,_ harder, Daddy –!” they moaned.

“ _You’re_ going to come again like this,” Geralt growled, pressing two fingers against Jaskier’s dick. “Be a good boy for Daddy now.”

“Fuck –!” Jaskier whimpered.

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s pulse point, licked it, and closed his lips over it to suck. Jaskier tipped their hips up, pressing into Geralt, and whined for him. Geralt swiped his thumb across the head of Jaskier’s dick, and that seemed to end them. 

“Fuck, fuck, Daddy,” they moaned, clenching tight again around Geralt’s knot.

Geralt reveled in the feeling of Jaskier’s orgasm, their satisfied scent, and followed Jaskier into finishing again. Then he pulled Jaskier close and turned them sideways, pulling Jaskier’s leg over his hip. Jaskier tangled his hands in Geralt’s hair, bringing their lips together.

“I love you so much,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt gripped Jaskier’s ass and squeezed, humming. Jaskier sighed and tipped their head back; Geralt kissed down their throat gladly.

“Daddy,” Jaskier murmured. “That thing Vesemir did –? With his hand?”

“Hm,” Geralt answered. “Axii.”

“I think I almost came when he did it,” Jaskier giggled.

Geralt growled and kissed Jaskier’s mouth again. Jaskier clenched tight around his knot again and Geralt almost snarled from the spike of pleasure; he felt himself spurt a little more and Jaskier moaned.

“Can you do it?” Jaskier said against Geralt’s mouth. “Use that magic on me? Please, Daddy?”

“What would you have me do with you?” Geralt rumbled. “Axii makes the victim suggestible, clears their mind, and asserts the caster’s will.”

“Gods,” Jaskier whimpered. “Make me come over and over, Daddy, please, make me do whatever you want, just let me come again and again.”

Geralt chuckled. He squeezed Jaskier’s ass again, then slid his hand up Jaskier’s side to their waist, then lifted it again.

“Color?” he murmured.

“Greenest,” Jaskier insisted.

Geralt drew Axii. Jaskier’s eyes dilated.

“Come,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier gasped, their eyes rolled up, and their hole spasmed hard around Geralt’s knot. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s ass and pulled them close, grinding into them.

“Daddy,” Jaskier whispered in a dazed voice.

“Again,” Geralt rumbled.

“Fuck!” Jaskier squeaked.

Their hole started spasming all over again. Geralt rocked his hips into them, and felt almost half an orgasm. He growled and kissed Jaskier’s throat, grinding into them still.

“Again,” he demanded greedily.

Jaskier just gasped, their hole cinching tight around Geralt. Geralt managed to orgasm a third time and he fell back, panting, clutching at Jaskier’s ass. He let his concentration on Axii dissipate.

“Oh, gods,” Jaskier whispered. “You have to do that again. To make me do more things.”

Geralt rumbled. He rolled them over, putting Jaskier on his chest. Jaskier tucked his head under Geralt’s chin and rolled their hips briefly. Geralt’s dick spasmed, but in overstimulation.

“Enough for now,” Geralt murmured. “Take a break.”

“Make me,” Jaskier answered softly, clenching around Geralt.

Geralt huffed. He lifted his hand and drew Axii again. Jaskier let out a slow sigh, going limp.

“Rest,” Geralt murmured. “Nap.”

Jaskier sighed again. They were instantly asleep. Geralt released Axii and wrapped his arms around Jaskier, kissing their hair.

“Good boy,” he murmured to his sleeping mate. “I love you.”

Jaskier sighed in their sleep. Geralt shut his eyes, satisfied. He began petting Jaskier’s hair, just to touch them more.

“Gimme Daddy,” Jaskier mumbled in their sleep. “Put ninja back.”

“I’m here,” Geralt answered in a rumble. “There are no ninjas.”

Jaskier sighed. “No ninjas,” they mumbled.

“No ninjas,” Geralt repeated. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jaskier countered. “Love Daddy. Best. Not a ninja.”

Geralt chuckled. “No, lark,” he agreed. “Not a ninja.”

“Potatoes,” Jaskier exhaled.

Geralt smiled and kissed Jaskier’s hair. He would probably stay awake and enjoy Jaskier’s sleep talk. It was very adorable. 

“Love Daddy,” Jaskier said in their sleep. “Love potatoes. Love you more.”

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s hair again. “I know,” he answered. “I love you more than potatoes, as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _gaaaaaaaaaaaaah it's over!!!!!! that's it!!! if you haven't reblogged Linx's art, go do it!!! it's so good!!! thank you so much to[mira](https://twitter.com/chilibabie07) for beta'ing this piece of trash, they were my rock these last few days lmao. to close, i have a comment for you from mira: "this is fucking sappy Jesus fuck moony my heart fuck"_

**Author's Note:**

> _i'm tellin you to loosen up my buttons babe! catch me on[twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi) or [tumblr](http://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) (no minors!) and hit up Linx's other works on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Linx1457) or on [tumblr](https://linx1457.tumblr.com/). make sure to reblog [the art](https://linx1457.tumblr.com/post/622198122536452096/my-first-art-contribution-to-the) on tumblr!!!_


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